


The Stars Above the Temple

by metrolights



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Ass-Kicking, Banter, First Meetings, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Sex, Jedha, M/M, Origin Story, Temple of the Wills, The Force™, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 15:10:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8992924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metrolights/pseuds/metrolights
Summary: Chirrut's origins, how he meets Baze, and how they kick butt. And how they fall and stay in love, despite everything. Chirrut chuckled, releasing Baze’s callous palm. He missed his warmth immediately, and his assuring fingers. Baze was an anchor, solid in his presence and rooted in Chirrut's mind. He did not know what he would do without him.





	1. The First Years (0-18)

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so I based all of this fabricated history off Wookieepedia and Rogue One's visual guide. Heads up :)

He was born blind, and so he was abandoned. Left for dead in a small alley in Jedha City, with barely a blanket to keep away the cold and disease.

He would've starved to death that night. Perhaps it was what his mother had wanted -- she hadn't asked for a child, much less a sick one. His cries and his needs would only hurt her. To her, this creature was more parasite than child.

Jedha was a Force-friendly planet. But that did not mean it was a utopia.

As a baby (a newborn), he did not know that he was meant to live. So he did not cry. Nobody should've known that he was stashed in a small crate, barely large enough for a monkey-lizard. He waited there for three hours, and he waited very patiently to die.

But someone found him: a guardian from the Temple of the Whills.

_Hello, child. What business do you have in a place like this?_

This man was not like his stone-faced brethren. This man was kind, gentle -- his hands cradle the baby's head with care. Far more than the mother had offered.

And Chirrut cried.

 

* * *

 

He was called Chirrut by the guardian, and he was raised under the protection of the Temple of the Whills. 

 

* * *

 

As Chirrut grew older, he began to understand his home.

It was a sanctuary, and a mine, and a treasury -- an ecosystem of its own, a haven for the Force. Chirrut could feel it swirling around him, strange and ancient, and sometimes he got dizzy if he went too close to the underground caves.

He could smell the crystals, buried deep in the ground. They smelled of age. Chirrut figured that was what the Force would smell like, if he could smell that.

The Force was a strange concept. Chirrut could not see it (that was certain). He could not smell it, nor taste it nor touch it --

But sometimes… he could hear it. Small whispers. He was not supposed to be able to; he'd overheard a Jedi Master whisper to his caretaker that _there is not a drop of sensitivity in his aura._

His guardian had balked at that. _Then how is it he can sense the Temple? He is blind!_

_I can see that. Perhaps there is Something small with him. Perhaps it is merely the influence of the Kyber crystals. But it is too small for our ways. I cannot feel enough of the Force in him._

_Well_ , and this was the Guard who had saved Chirrut, only five years ago. He smelled like grass and other good and lively things, even if they lived on a barren planet. _We’d thought he might make a good Padawan. It can be lonely for a parentless child out here. I'd hoped --_

The Master placed a gentle hand on the man's shoulder. Chirrut could not see it, but there was a rippling comfort that washed over the man. His guardian was silenced.

That level of comfort usually only happened when Chirrut held his hand, when they took walks together under the stars.

Sometimes, Chirrut wished he could see stars. They were like fires, he knew, but bigger. Brighter. And far more beautiful. (That was the only reason he ever wished to see.)

 _Looking at stars_ , his guardian once mused, _is like looking at life itself. There are so many planets, did you know? And so many voices on every planet. Everyone is a puzzle piece of the universe. We make it whole._

Chirrut’s small hands touched his own eyelids -- thin and soft, cold in the night air -- _Even me?_

The guardian chuckled. (He would smile. But Chirrut would not see that.) _Especially you._

Chirrut reached out, a small grubby hand in a vast, empty universe, and his guardian held on tight.

 

* * *

 

Years later, and Chirrut was not as blind. At ten years of age, he could recognize the objects around him. He'd memorized the Temple paths, and he could associate new people by voice with ease. He did not let his circumstances hinder him. Humans weren't built for blindness (unlike some alien species) but it came naturally to him. Chirrut didn't understand why anyone was impressed by his everyday actions.

Also, his guardian, far more Force sensitive than he, had taught him to communicate with the Force through meditation and prayer. Chirrut was young, but he knew why his guardian was doing it: His guardian thought he needed the Force to see.

Chirrut went along with it largely because it satisfied his guardian, but also because he knew what sacrifices the man was making for him. The guardians who lived here were not usually allowed connections -- but there Chirrut was, living proof of a line crossed. Thankfully, the other four guardians were understanding and allowed him to roam their Temple. He'd lived there since he was a newborn, after all. There was no obvious harm in his being there.

Even at ten years of age, Chirrut was that wise. He had the makings of a Jedi in him, that much was evident to his guardian.

(Sometimes the guardian regretted not pushing harder for Chirrut's training. He would've had better chances on Coruscant than on the distant and empty Jedha. It was strong in the Force, but Chirrut had always been so lively and full of wonder. He did not seem suited to a monk's life.)

Still, Chirrut's wisdom was not without its pitfalls. As a child, he did not have friends. The children in Jedha City (none stayed at the Temple except him, and the young adults who trained as the next generation of guards hardly counted) shied from his eyes, and they would ignore him when he tried to speak. No one wanted to talk to the blind kid; he could not play games and make mischief. And, look, he has the old guardians’ favor! They all agreed, somehow, that that was strange and not to be tolerated.

So he did not know what to do with the boy who joined him that year. He was ten, but he would be eleven soon, a fact he seemed quite proud of.

“My name’s Baze, and I'm here to train at the Temple,” said the young boy proudly. He smelled like sunshine on dark earth.

 

* * *

 

When the monk-guardian escorting Baze begrudgingly formally introduced him to Chirrut, Chirrut was not impressed.

“He's so young,” Chirrut said as not-bluntly as he could manage. “Why is he really here?”

Baze seemed to puff up at that. Chirrut noticed, with no little amusement, that he could almost feel the heat rolling off Baze.

“And what do you mean by that? You're young, too!”

Chirrut spread his arms. He hoped he was looking Baze straight in the eyes, maybe psych him out. That would really get the other boy's skin broiling… oh. Maybe this was why he didn't have friends? “I'm just saying.”

“Maybe you should stop!”

“Calm down,” said the present guardian. She sounded bored. Chirrut knew she was just trying to get control of the situation, and that she simply needed to get Baze going. And maybe Chirrut would never have to interact with him again. Which would be very good. “Baze, stay here with Chirrut. I need to speak with his caretaker.”

Chirrut basked in Baze's stunned silence. It felt like victory, even if he were stuck with the annoyance for a couple more minutes, which was a loss.

Baze was less impressed. Fuming, to be exact.

“Someone’s overjoyed,” Chirrut piped up.

“Ach, shut up.”

Chirrut grinned. “You're funny.”

“You're not!” Baze snapped. The he paused. Stepped closer, and leaned in. The strong, earthy smell clung to his skin with a fierce strength. “Are you blind?”

Chirrut leaned back, blinked. “Wow, is it that obvious?”

“No,” Baze said quickly. Too quickly.

Chirrut attempted a wink. He was not very good at that yet, but he was trying. He ended up winking both of his eyes at the same time. “It's okay. I know.”

Baze’s clothes rustled around. He was probably just adjusting his pants. “I'm a little nearsighted.”

“Oh,” Chirrut said thoughtfully.

“I thought you just had really blue eyes,” Baze told him.

“Ah,” Chirrut replied with interest.

“Sorry.”

“I don't care,” Chirrut said easily.

“Wait, can you see things with the Force? Is that your thing?” Baze interrupted suddenly, excitement pouring through every syllable. “That's so cool!”

Chirrut gave a weak smile. “Ah, no.” _I don't have the strength._

Baze seemed disappointed by that admission, as he lapsed into a strange sort of quiet. They didn't talk again until the guardian came back for Baze, upon which Chirrut gave a courteous farewell. Baze offered the same.

Chirrut, in all of his ten-year-old wisdom, figured he'd never speak with Baze again. The idea was not as appealing as it'd felt ten minutes before.

 

* * *

 

Chirrut was only ten years old. So, as children tend to be, he was very wrong.

He saw Baze the next day as he practiced meditation with his guardian.

_Saw._

It was strange. Chirrut had never really connected with the Force, not like this. He could hear it whispering now and then, like the breeze through the branches of a tree, or a wind dusting over the great statues of old Jedi.

This was stronger.

He could see the outline of a strange and fleshy creature. It looked soft and small and a little patchy, and it was alive. It was moving energetically, waving a hand about animatedly. It had to be a boy, it was too small.

And there was only one other boy, and that was Baze.

Chirrut's eyes flew open and he fell sideways into his guardian. The soft fabric absorbed him, cradled his burning mind. He had been overwhelmed by the sudden clarity of the Force -- like looking into the Sun, searing and burning and exhilarating.

“I saw someone,” Chirrut breathed, adrenaline coursing through his veins. Were those shaking fingers his? They felt detached. Not quite there. Ghost fingers for a ghost boy, but that wasn't him, that was Baze, a figure across the Temple.

His guardian squeezed his shaking fingers still. “That's wonderful news, Chirrut. Do you know them?”

Chirrut nodded. “The new boy.” He peeled himself from the folds of his guardian’s robes, feeling around for his glass of water.

“Perhaps you should befriend him,” his guardian suggested slowly, thinking as he spoke. “He may be important to your journey. The Force showed him to you for a reason --”

“No!” Chirrut balked. He nearly knocked over his glass of water in his haste.

Befriend Baze? Baze, who he made feel awkward? Baze, who he could hardly hold a conversation with?

“He is loud and talkative," Chirrut explained stiffly. "We would kill each other before the stars came out! I refuse.”

His guardian seemed to stare at him in shock. Chirrut could feel his eyes on him, and Chirrut shifted uncomfortably. “Sometimes I forget that you're only ten,” his guardian said with little wonder.

“What does that mean?”

“Nevermind, Chirrut.”

 

* * *

 

Chirrut rather liked his own name. It rolled off the tongue pretty easily, and it had a firm solidarity. It was the name of a warrior, and he felt strong wearing it.

He wondered if he was disgracing it by hiding behind the pillar, trying to accidentally bump into Baze.

Chirrut told himself that this was only to check if his guardian was right, and that Baze was important to him somehow. For fate and destiny and the Force. Right? Right. Because he'd never really needed a friend before; the Temple was large and interesting and ever ready to explore, and he had his guardian, and some of the other, few guardians would talk to him sometimes.

So he didn't really need a friend. That was silly and trivial, and beside the point.

Then came a whistle rounding the corner, and Chirrut's stomach twisted as he realized that this was Baze rounding the corner. He brushed himself off, counting the other boy's steps as they drew nearer.

_And three… two, one!_

Chirrut stepped promptly into the hallway and right into Baze’s path, who crashed to the floor in an undignified mess.

“Oh, sorry, didn't see you there --”

Baze was splayed out on the stone floor, shock radiating from his very core. “Hey!” he exclaimed, belatedly.

Chirrut chuckled. He tried not to sound nervous. He'd just realized that his brain had left the system, and was aboard the cruiser of a bright red pirate called Stupidity. “Hey. Do you need a hand?”

“It would be appreciated,” Baze grumbled, a hand groping about, “seeing as you bowled me over.”

“I wouldn't say that exactly --”

“Also, did you make a sight joke? Seriously?”

Chirrut paused, staring at what he was pretty sure was Baze. The other by squirmed a bit, suddenly unsure of his words. There was an awkward lull.

And then Chirrut doubled-over laughing, his nerves evaporating like blue milk on a hot summer's day.

Baze seemed satisfied with himself, no longer reaching up for assistance, content just to hear Chirrut laughing.

They became good friends after that.

 

* * *

 

When Chirrut and Baze grew into their teenage years, their days became less carefree. Baze was caught up in more rigorous training. Chirrut began delving deeper into the Force, better learning its tune. Baze had to do that, too, but he admitted to Chirrut once that he was pretty rubbish at it. Handling a bowcaster, though -- that was where it was at for Baze.

Eventually, Chirrut came to long to do more than just sit and think. He could hear the guardians training in the courtyard everyday, channeling their energy through their bodies and their tools, and it sounded much more exciting than only sitting and thinking. And Baze said that he liked it more than meditating, and Baze was trustworthy enough.

Chirrut could make his way without the Force, but with it -- it was as good as having eyes, and better. He could read people. He knew their moods, their strong intentions, their state of mind. He could pick out details of their clothing. Small bits of jewelry, chinks in armor.

“Baze,” Chirrut said as they walked through Jedha City’s market, “do you think I could train with a weapon?”

Baze was taken aback by that. “What?”

“I want to learn to defend myself,” Chirrut informed him. “It could be important, you know.”

Baze nearly stumbled into a market stall. The street was pretty clear that day and Chirrut didn't have much trouble getting through, but Baze's stature was naturally larger and was stumbling into everyone anyway. Chirrut had learned, wisely, not to laugh.

“I'm being serious, Baze.”

“What do you need to defend yourself against?” Baze balked. He quickly apologized to the angry stall-keeper, and caught up to Chirrut, who’d been drifting away.

“What do you need to defend against?” Chirrut pointed out.

Baze sighed exasperatedly. “I'm training as a guardian!”

“And what am I doing?” Chirrut asked. He realized then, suddenly, that he was not so sure himself. He'd never asked that before.

“Well, you're,” Baze hesitated, “you're training in the spiritual arts.”

Chirrut made a sudden right, stepping into an shallow alley end. Sure enough, Baze followed him -- but Chirrut was irrationally angry. And that was never good.

He stabbed a finger into Baze’s chest, poking repeatedly into the rough fabric. Baze was not impressed. Neither was Chirrut, honestly. “The Temple of the Whills is a wholly spiritual place! Both of us are learning 'the spiritual arts'!”

“Yeah, but you do it for your eyes,” Baze said.

“Shouldn't I be able to defend my eyes, then?” Chirrut said, sarcasm dripping from his tongue. Baze was silent.

He bit back his next words, regret overcoming him. This was not the right fight between Baze and him; the situation was beyond Baze’s control.

The bittersweet smell of smoke shook Chirrut from his thoughts. He apologized briefly.

“Whatever,” Baze said. He sounded fine, but Chirrut could feel something was wrong. Was he mad with Chirrut? He'd already apologized. Chirrut tried to shrug it off, put on an easy smile. This was his fault.

“Let's return to the Temple.”

“I’ll follow you,” Baze replied. 

Chirrut nodded.

 

* * *

 

Chirrut did not have the beg. His guardian agreed to begin training him in the basic weaponry arts immediately.

“You're fifteen, now,” his guardian said evenly. “I had supposed it was only time.”

Chirrut was surprised. Surely he would put up more of a fight, try to persuade Chirrut back to the, as Baze put it, “spiritual arts”. Maybe he didn't think Chirrut could do it. Expected him to fail and give up.

Chirrut swore to himself that he'd never give up.

All five guardians showed up to watch him the next day. His guardian would teach him to move, guiding his first steps and arm movements. There would be no use of weapons for some time.

Baze was off to the side watching. Leaning against a crumbling stone wall, hidden in the early morning shadow. He waved.

It was always easier for Chirrut to see Baze. The Force bent toward him differently. Baze had hard edges and clear motions, and sometimes Chirrut could swear he had heard him blink. Or make out a smile. Baze had a beautiful smile, Chirrut knew. He was not quite sure what a smile was, and had never seen any others, but he could feel the innate pleasantness of Baze’s genuine smile.

He waved back.

 

* * *

 

“What, tired already?” Baze laughed. He gave Chirrut a friendly slap on the back, br Chirrut nearly doubled-over in pain.

“No,” Chirrut rasped. He clutched his chest, wheezing.

Baze patted his shoulder. “More difficult than you'd thought?”

“I didn't even go running before this,” Chirrut said between breaths, “why would he think I could move like that?”

“But you did, at the end,” Baze noted.

“Hardly,” Chirrut scoffed.

“No,” Baze said, “you did. You had a certainty to your steps, and a sharpness. You are a quick learner, Chirrut.”

Chirrut knew now that he was forgiven for his outburst in the City. Baze did not give compliments loosely. Somehow, Chirrut had found his favor again. 

After the stress of the day, Chirrut almost wanted to cry at that.

Instead, Chirrut’s face stretched into a tired smile. “Thank you, Baze.”

Baze took his aching hand and gently squeezed it. Chirrut squeezed back.

“I'll let you get to a shower now,” Baze said softly. “And don't you dare repeat this to anyone else, but -- I am proud of you.”

Chirrut chuckled, releasing Baze’s callous palm. He missed his warmth immediately, and his assuring fingers. Baze was an anchor, solid in his presence and rooted in Chirrut's mind. He did not know what he would do without Baze.

“You are a good friend,” Chirrut said decidedly. He took back Baze's hand, and forced him to sit down beside him.

They were sitting on a stone half-wall, along the outside of the courtyard. It was dusty and old, and peculiarly dead. Not in a bad way; Chirrut did not fear Death. It was just… empty.

But Chirrut was used to it. He preferred the quiet empty of the Temple’s center to the crowded bustling of Jedha City, which could be chaotic and disorienting on the best of days. Thankfully, Chirrut realized with some amusement, Baze was always there with him.

“I know I am,” Baze said. His shoulder bumped Chirrut's. “What would you do without me?”

Chirrut squeezed his hand. “So modest.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Would you do me a favor?”

Baze was quiet for a minute. “The stars?”

“Yes. Please,” Chirrut added.

He could tell that Baze was smiling.

“My mother would tell me that the stars are the ghosts of Jedi. That they had so much Force and goodness in them that all of it had to culminate in a beautiful burst of light and life, parsecs of parsecs away…”

 

* * *

 

By the time Baze finished his story, Chirrut had fallen asleep on his broad shoulder. He was drooling a little bit, but Baze couldn't bring himself to mind.

When Chirrut awoke, he was in his bed with no memory of having walked there.

(But his blankets smelled of earth.)

 

* * *

 

When Chirrut was 18, he entered the kyber caves for the first time.

He'd smelled them before he was younger: they were what smelled of age and reminded him of the universe.

A guardian would enter alone and choose a fragment of a kyber crystal for their first handcrafted weapon. Baze had entered years before and constructed his bowcaster, a formidable weapon that he enjoyed subtly preening over to Chirrut. It wasn't really the Whills’ way, but Chirrut found it endearing enough. He was admittedly very excited to construct his own.

Baze had been surprised at Chirrut's choice. “How will you fire a bowcaster? Can you even see your target? You couldn't throw a stone at a monkey-lizard last year.”

“I've improved since then,” Chirrut had said simply. He’d smiled.

Baze had groaned.

But Baze was not with him now, Chirrut thought. Admittedly, he was a little nervous. Chirrut would be somewhere new without eyes. Well, seeing eyes.

No matter. He had faith in the Force. The Force would guide his steps, and he would find his crystal and get out.

Easy. Simple. Like pulling a switch. One step.

_One step forward._

Baze's hand left his shoulder and Chirrut swallowed, but he imagined that Baze's hand had only moved to fit in his own. The guardians formed a half circle outside the door, which was open and rippling cool, ancient air over the six figures.

Chirrut reached to his left to feel the great, stone door. It was strangely smooth -- like fire-blown wood. There were raised sections and hollow sections. Together, Chirrut began to realize, they formed the design of a deep-root tree. A representation of a binding life form, and a metaphor for the Force.

“Remember,” called out his guardian. Chirrut felt a chill at his voice, nerves getting the better of him. He let go of the door. “You are One with the Force. The Force is with you.”

It was an old adage of sorts, something the guardians had always said. His guardian had told it to him as a prayer, and Chirrut always repeated it to himself when he needed some form of comfort.

Chirrut, voice shaking, repeated back, “I am One with the Force; the Force is with me.”

A murmur arose from the guardians. Baze stepped back, but his gaze was pinned to Chirrut's back. What a liar. He'd promised Chirrut that he wouldn't worry over him.

Chirrut took one last step forward, held on tight to Baze’s ghost hand.

The doors, heavy and large, scraped shut behind him.

 

* * *

 

For one, it was dark. But that was nothing new for Chirrut, he thought dryly.

“I am One with the Force,” he called out into the echoing caves. “The Force is with me.”

Something tinkled in response.

Chirrut’s heart skipped a beat. He stumbled forward, hands outstretched. “I am One with the Force,” he breathed, “and the Force is with me.”

Again, a small sound. Like a soft bell. Could it be? Was this the Force, guiding him to his fate? Because this was his destiny, there was no doubt. He'd been raised a guardian his entire life; he knew no other path. With a sliver of a kyber crystal, he'd take his rightful future.

Without one… he was not so sure. A kyber weapon was the mark of a guardian. While Jedi only harnessed theirs in the form of lightsabers, a guardian's tool could be anything at all. He'd thought his would be a bowcaster, like Baze. He would need a tough, heavy, round kyber crystal for that.

However, it seemed that the Force had other plans for him.

Chirrut had followed the call to a wall that felt like slate, but was damp. Was there an underground river? He hadn't been listening for one.

Pressing one hand against the cool rock wall for comfort, Chirrut grabbed around blindly for whatever the cave would offer. Instinctually, his fingers trailed down a small stream. It felt ice cold, and he swallowed his nerves. Chirrut crouched closer to the ground to feel where the stream ended, and his hand brushed something sharp.

Excited, Chirrut grabbed at the object and pulled.

It came out, miraculously, with only a small crack. Chirrut grinned, exhilarated by his find. It felt like bells and time and everything wonderful about the universe. 

More literally, it was rough and thin. Oddly smooth in some places, and sharp along the edges. It was not dusty at all, but wet and slick from the stream. He rubbed dirt off its bottom and glowed with pride.

He knew what this kyber crystal would be used for.

A warmth spread into his soul, and he looked up to the cave ceiling, imagining millions and millions of stars beaming down on his bones.

“I am One with the Force,” he whispered, “and the Force is with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback would be amazing!! I love these two and their dynamic so much; don't hesitate to let me know of any errors.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> (say hi on [tumblr](http://chirrutbzze.tumblr.com)!)


	2. The First Adventure (18-20)

Baze reacted very peculiarly to Chirrut's choice in weapon.

“A staff!” he scoffed. “What need have you for a staff! You walk perfectly fine!”

The two of them were in Chirrut's quarters. Baze had refused to sit, but Chirrut sat cross-legged on his own bed with his kyber crystal clutched in his left hand.

“The Force said so,” Chirrut told him, half-jokingly. He knew that would get Baze riled up, and that was usually a funny thing to behold.

He was right. Baze scoffed more violently, and a heavy item was shoved into Chirrut's hands: Baze's bowcaster. Metal and smooth, but warm and worn where Baze held his weapon. Oddly comforting in its weight.

“Do you feel that?” Baze asked. “That is raw power, Chirrut. Will your staff be able to fell your greatest enemies?”

Chirrut shrugged, and held the bowcaster back out to Baze. Baze did not take it back. He was stubborn like that. “And has your bowcaster done so?”

“Not yet, but it will,” Baze replied. He did not miss a beat, confident in his answer.

“And so shall my staff,” Chirrut said. He raised his chin up, smirked down at Baze. (Sort of. Baze was still taller than him.)

Unfortunately, he had miscalculated his words; Baze was not amused. “Chirrut,” began his friend, voice straining.

“Baze,” Chirrut interrupted.

“Chirrut,” Baze said with more force. “You understand I am worried for you --”

“You were the one who asked how I could aim a bowcaster!”

“I'm not saying you need a bowcaster!” Baze exclaimed, exasperated. “It's just -- a staff --”

“-- will serve me well, as the Force has willed it,” Chirrut finished for him.

Baze let out a hiss of air, his heavy steps clomping across the floor. They were erratic, and Chirrut had trouble focusing. 

“After your journey into the kyber caves… you've been so...” Baze’s right foot thudded hard against the hardwood. “...spouting all of these ideas you've never--”

“I've always believed in the Force,” Chirrut said, mildly offended. The kyber crystal burned into his palm.

“Not like this.”

Chirrut nodded slowly. “The Whills caves. It was a transformative moment.”

“You were in a new place, and alone,” Baze said. “Fear and anxiety, maybe --”

He stopped. Perhaps he could feel Chirrut's sudden, rare anger; perhaps he simply realized that that was something he should  _not_ have said. 

“I can take care of myself, Baze,” Chirrut snapped. “I was not hallucinating. That was real.”

Thud, thud. His floor would break if Baze kept that up. “I was not saying --”

“You were,” Chirrut said, voice low.

Baze stopped walking. A great, heavy sigh flooded forth, and Chirrut imagined that he was quite conflicted.

 _Good_ , Chirrut thought.

“I am sorry,” Baze said finally. Chirrut did not think it sincere enough. “I cannot help worrying.”

Chirrut sniffed in response.

Heavy footfalls slammed their way to the door, burning through the hard floorboards.

“You can be so aggravating,” Baze bit out, fingers curled tight into his palms. Chirrut could feel his tension even from the bed, and almost offered to undo the knots before remembering that he was very angry with Baze.

Very, deeply, incredibly upset and wounded. Even though Baze apologized. Even though it was too difficult to stay mad with Baze.

_What a child Baze is._

“I'm leaving now,” Baze warned Chirrut stiffly. “Anything you want to say?”

“No,” Chirrut answered firmly.

The door opened and slammed shut, and the air was cooler and emptier and Chirrut could feel the loss.

He sighed, and he almost hated how it seemed to echo Baze's. They really were intertwined, weren't they?

Chirrut absentmindedly wrapped his fingers in the blankets. They were soft, like his robes, and like the robes of the guardians. Dusty, maybe, with age. And cool to the touch. Truly a part of the Temple.

The kyber crystal rolled from his fingers onto the blanket, and Chirrut found himself unable to care. Baze's reaction was almost  _disturbing_ \-- why did he have to care so much about Chirrut? What was he so afraid of? 

This argument was beyond the crafting of a weapon. Chirrut would have to think more on this.

 

* * *

 

His suspicion was confirmed when Chirrut began crafting his weapon and Baze did not show up. This made Chirrut nervous, and his hands would not stop shaking as he shaped the wood to fit his needs.

His guardian seemed disappointed, and he clapped Chirrut on the back once in conciliation before wandering off. His guardian could not help him -- crafting a weapon to defend the Temple was a journey for each guardian, and was taught through books from ages of experience to show young guardians the value of knowledge. There were books on every subject imaginable. A simple staff would be among them.

Sadly, Chirrut could not read, and he refused to ask his guardian for help and his guardian refused to help him without being asked. They had a special relationship.

Also, Chirrut suspected his guardian knew about the rift that had been cut between Baze and himself. He would have to work it out on his own.

Chirrut set the staff's base aside, pressing the back of his hand to his aching head. The wood was perfect -- exactly hard and dense enough, and would work beautifully after being fire-blown -- but it didn't feel right. Chirrut could not explain it. He wondered if it were a warning from the Force, or if perhaps he were just paranoid.

Chirrut found himself craving Baze's advice (and reading skills). He'd fashioned a bowcaster, hadn't he? A staff would be child's play in comparison.

Baze would know what to do.

Chirrut wished he could reach out with the Force to find Baze, but it was not that simple. His epiphany in the caves had been due to his close proximity to such an abundance of the Force, and was not something he could just… instigate. Chirrut knew the Force existed -- nothing else could explain how he could almost-see; and, again, the caves -- but he could not form a connection with it.

Otherwise he'd probably be on Coruscant training as a Jedi, and not stuck on Jedha.

Though that was hardly fair. Jedha was not a bad planet, and Jedha City was actually a fascinating place. Chaotic and confusing, but a friend to Chirrut. He had a feeling he'd be there a long time.

Chirrut stood, claiming his barely fashioned staff. It felt too light to wield, but weights and balances and the like could be easily added. The kyber crystal, too. That, he'd decided, would be located at the top so that his environment would be easier for him to sense. Other than that... He was not sure.

He made his way back to his quarters, heart heavy. Chirrut knew what he had to do.

 

* * *

 

It took three days for Chirrut to swallow his pride.

He followed Baze back to his room one day after Baze had finished practicing, knowing that the larger boy (man? The lines always felt blurry at this age) would be more accommodating after burning off steam.

When Baze's room’s door slammed shut, Chirrut began counting down from ten. At Time 10, he would knock on the door. At Time 15, Baze would open it, and Chirrut would wait until Time 17 to begin his apology speech. At Time 30, Baze would accept it and Chirrut would let him help him build his staff. By Time 35, they would be good friends once more.

Easy.

 

* * *

 

_Time 12:_

“Chirrut,” Baze said as he opened the door. He was not surprised to see Chirrut.

Chirrut's heart thumped straight into his chest -- Baze was not supposed to open the door so quickly. What was he doing? Did this mean he would be more or less receptive to Chirrut's apology?

_Time 15:_

“I would like to apologize,” Chirrut said, “because I believe that I take you for granted. You had tried to apologize for something, and I was rude. I will try to be a better friend and --” Chirrut hesitated, then decided to continue plowing through, “-- fellow guardian.”

_Time 25:_

Chirrut ran out of things to say. He hadn't taken up enough time. He hoped he sounded sincere enough. He hoped it hadn't been too short.

He tugged at the sleeves on his robes.

_Time 30:_

“Chirrut,” Baze said. His voice cracked on the _r_ ’s.

_Time 32:_

It all rushed out of Chirrut like a tidal wave, tumbling and unrelenting and --

“I realized when I was making my staff that you were not beside me, and it was very strange. I have become so used to you standing beside me.

“I understand that your faith is not like mine, and that the Force works in you differently, so I respect that. I do not agree,” and Baze chuckled softly at that, so Chirrut felt hope and he allowed himself to smile, which felt really good, “but I want to be friends, Baze. So, I am sorry for being rude and for being stupid. You care about me very much. Maybe too much -- I am self-sufficient, you know. But you only want what's best for me, which is kind of weird.” Chirrut blinked a couple of times, his smile starting to hurt but he couldn't care less. “I see that now.”

_Time 40:_

It was past the time that Chirrut had originally set for Friendship Reparations, but he couldn't care less.

He was being enveloped in a warm, heavy, real, weighty, wonderful embrace -- all full of Baze. Earthy, soft, beautiful Baze. Storytelling, dangerous, caring Baze. Dumb Baze. Strong Baze.

Baze was so many wonderful things, wasn't he? Chirrut clung to him harder and tried not to cry too much. Baze (Dumb Baze) patted his back gently and pressed Chirrut's face into his shoulder, and Chirrut could feel him grinning.

Chirrut would have to get him back for that.

“You even made a sight pun,” Baze mumbled over the top of Chirrut's head.

Chirrut muffled his watery laughter in Baze's robe-covered shoulder. He still smelled of sweat. That was fine.

 

* * *

 

When Chirrut showed Baze his staff, he knew he'd been right. Baze explained to him very carefully the process of shaping his weapon, giving suggestions on how to weight it and what to encapsulate the kyber shard in. Upon Chirrut's prodding, he even read a large chunk of a book to Chirrut.

Of course, he respected Chirrut's final decisions and was relatively laidback. That was all Chirrut could ask for.

(Chirrut’s guardian offered his congratulations the nexf time, and Chirrut swelled with pride.)

In return, Chirrut helped Baze with his mediations. He still had trouble calming his chaotic soul (there was really no other word for it), but Chirrut was at least able to lecture on the Force. Baze still seemed fairly unconvinced, but he was listening. For Chirrut, that was progress for Baze both as a guardian of the Temple and as a living being.

Not to mention their experiments with tea.

Chirrut had thought that some herbal concoctions would calm Baze long enough for him to enter that strange state between consciousness and unconsciousness, but Baze brought back from the City some… shady tea that instead caused bizarre hallucinations.

So while Chirrut hovered in a fluid state, he was accosted by an agitated Baze, shouting some nonsense about giant space worms.

Unfortunately, Chirrut could see them, too.

They did not try the tea again.

 

* * *

 

Some time later, Chirrut and Baze were given their first mission.

A guardian approached them at midday, while Chirrut had been watching Baze train. (He did that, sometimes. Not really watching, but just standing by as a source of moral support. Baze seemed to like it.)

“Walk with me,” the aging guardian said, his voice warbling a bit. His throat bobbed, and Chirrut knew that this was not official Temple business.

Chirrut called out for Baze. as he walked over, wiping down from his exercise, Chirrut nodded to him. Baze’s gait shifted slightly -- his friend was intrigued.

The guardian’s throat bobbed again.

“Now, this is highly sensitive,” said the guardian, the warbling voice more urgent, “so I beg you not to mention this to the others.”

Chirrut nodded. Baze joined him at his side, bowcaster slung over his back. The guardian's feet shifted slightly, nervously.

“There's a gang in Jedha City that has been terrorizing the family of a good friend, and I need someone to intervene. I cannot go myself, or I would,” the guardian said rather sadly, “but the years have taken their toll.”

There was hardly a pause before Baze put a steady hand on Chirrut's shoulder and said confidently, “We'll do it.”

 _We?_ Chirrut thought incredulously. _I have agreed to nothing! This could be a trap! We could be gravely injured!_ We _are the last generation of Temple guardians!_

He didn't say any of that, of course. Chirrut just smiled.

“You understand that you cannot be associated with the Temple,” the guardian began anxiously, but Baze waved his concerns off.

“We'll take care of that,” Baze said easily. “Just send us the details later.”

The shifty guardian nodded and walked off. As soon as he entered the Temple's halls, Chirrut elbowed Baze in the gut.

Baze grunted, the wind knocked out of him. As soon as he could regain his breath and Chirrut could stop laughing, he complained, “What was that for?”

“For not asking if I wanted to do this!”

Baze frowned. “But you did!”

“Hardly!”

Chirrut erupted with laughter once more.

“You are so strange,” Baze told him fondly.

“And the same to you,” Chirrut said with a grin. Then his grin faded some. “But you do know this could be a trap, or a test. The Force --”

“-- told you so?” Baze supplied.

“No,” Chirrut said with a frown. “It moves strangely around that man.”

“You can see the Force now?” Baze’s tone was not mocking, but caught in disbelief. Chirrut had expected this reaction, and so continued his explanation unfazed.

“You know that if I concentrate, I can see the outline of your form, and how you move and gesture and walk,” Chirrut started.

“You have said as much,” Baze agreed.

“You are always very clear,” Chirrut informed him. He tugged at the edges of his sleeves, trying not to too obviously show his nerves. “This man is not. There is a confusion about his essence.”

“He's lying about something, then,” Baze said darkly. His bowcaster slipped slightly on his back.

“Or he's just nervous,” Chirrut added. “I don't know. That is all the Force has revealed.”

To his credit, Baze did not contradict Chirrut. He remained silent instead, which was more than enough. Perhaps he had a bad feeling about their first mission as well.

 

* * *

 

The next day, Chirrut requested the day off from his guardian to go into Jedha City. Chirrut may be 20 now, but he was still a guardian-in-training -- and so was Baze, so he asked for Baze as well because he knew he wouldn’t do it himself.

After a minute of silence and deliberation, his guardian agreed.

Heart beating rapidly, Chirrut walked out of the heavily incensed room with the realization that he'd deceived the man who raised him. Was it worth it? And how could his guardian not sense his guilt? His palms had been sweaty, grimy. His voice had shaken ever so slightly.

The guardians were trained only to guard the Temple, and the kyber crystals hidden within. To use his skills to defend something else -- no matter the cause -- counted on Chirrut's soul as betrayal.

Chirrut wondered how long it would be until he and Baze were the last line of defense. His guardian was getting old, he'd realized, and so were the four others.

It was a frightening thought.

He pushed his fears away, swallowing them down like water. They would have to ache later.

 

* * *

 

Baze was waiting for him in the courtyard. “Ready?”

His bowcaster was slung across his back -- Chirrut could sense the kyber crystal there -- and he had something large in his hand. The sack of civilian clothing, Chirrut imagined.

Chirrut carried his staff with him. It was a weight he had gotten used to, and had trained with for a couple years now. He liked to think that he'd become rather deadly with it.

“Ready,” Chirrut told Baze.

 

* * *

 

Once they'd left the Temple grounds, the two of them backed behind a great rock formation and shed their Temple robes, long but light things that were soft. They were warm and flexible, perfect for a guardian’s monk-warrior life.

The precise opposite of whatever civilian clothing Baze had picked up.

“Where did you get this?” Chirrut called out to Baze. He'd insisted on changing some ways away, even though Chirrut had informed him that he was, shockingly, blind. Baze had retorted that he could still see and had no interest in seeing ‘your stringy body’, which Chirrut found himself mildly offended by.

“From the City,” Baze called back. He was rustling around a bit, no doubt having the same trouble as Chirrut.

“Yes,” Chirrut shouted, tugging a long and scratchy sock up his right leg, “but how? You have no money!”

Baze’s laugh was loud -- too loud. “I joined the Temple when I was eleven, and my mother died when I was eight. What do you think I did in between?”

“Worked?” Chirrut asked hopefully.

“Sure,” Baze said.

Chirrut sighed. He knew the City was harsh, but he did not know it was so… defining. He would not wish otherwise for Baze, however. Chirrut was selfish like that.

Because he knew that if Baze did not steal from the Jedha City markets, he would not have been found by the guardian. And then Chirrut would not know Baze, and that would be a great shame.

Baze had begun walking back over to Chirrut, asking loudly all the while if he was decent.

“Yes, yes,” Chirrut shouted, tugging the odd-smelling tunic over his head.

Baze's footsteps grew louder until he reached Chirrut, whereupon they stopped -- Baze, Chirrut knew, was taking him in. He was sure he'd put the pants and shirt on the right way, so Baze shouldn't have been staring for so long.

Chirrut rubbed the back of his head self-consciously. This was the first time he was wearing civilian clothing, after all, and Baze's eyes felt as if they were burning into him.

Instead of saying anything, Baze began collecting up Chirrut's shedded clothes, tossing them into his sack. “You could be more organized,” he said.

Chirrut, relieved, shook his head.

 

* * *

 

Chirrut was worried that his and Baze's weapons might stick out in Jedha City, but he found that he shouldn't have wasted the energy. Jedha City was so busy that no one could spare the time to worry over the baggage of two humans. In all the bustle surrounding the pair, Chirrut made sure to pinch two fingers on the back of Baze's shirt.

At least he had the consolation of knowing that Baze's shirt was just as coarse. Chirrut’s itched, a lot. He was constantly being tempted -- just a small scratch! Just one!

Except it kept happening, and it was all very annoying --

Baze made a sudden left.

“Shouldn't we --” Chirrut began, but Baze quickly cut him short.

“Three,” he simply said.

Chirrut cocked his head, reaching out for the threats Baze spoke of.

But the City was too busy. He couldn't see, in any sense of the word. Chirrut soon recalled why he rarely came into the city, frustration clouding his thoughts.

No, no. No. He had a job to do.

Baze's shirt crumpled between his fingers as he closed his eyes, trying to recall the peace of the Temple -- drawing on even the memory could help. But the lingering guilt from before creeped along the edge of his being; he tried to force it off with his frustrations.

 _We are all One with the Force_ , his guardian reminded him quietly. _The Force is with us, always._

Chirrut’s eyes flew open as he nearly stumbled into Baze.

“Careful, Chirrut,” Baze grumbled, not slowing his pace as he barged through the slowing marketplace. The sun was beginning to reach high-point, the hottest time of day. Nobody in their right mind would walk outside during such a period.

Except Chirrut and Baze and their pursuers, of course.

Chirrut gripped his staff, and repeated his guardian's mantra in his head. It soothed his nerves. Allowed him to clear his mind and focus.

“Behind the wind chime cart,” Chirrut whispered in Baze's ear.

Baze slowed his pace some, moving his right hand to grip Chirrut's forearm. Chirrut liked the feeling of Baze's worn hands, large and reassuring -- but, no, they had a job to do.

“With the fake kyber crystals?”

Since Chirrut couldn't feel the supposed crystals, then yes.

“On my count,” Baze murmured. His grip loosened and he moved his hand from Chirrut to his bowcaster.

His breath was steady, if heavy. Baze was nervous -- but so was Chirrut. This was their first real taste of combat. Anything and everything could go wrong.

“I am One with the Force and the Force is with me,” Chirrut breathed, fingers strained tight around his staff. He tried to relax his grip, but found that using nerves had frozen them stiff. That was not good.

The shift was sudden but Chirrut was ready --

Baze fired a shot at the chime cart, the blast narrowly missing the cart to shatter the wall, which splintered and burned and crumbled in on itself. Chirrut could _feel_ its utter destruction.

It was very. Surprising.

“You made that?” Chirrut demanded of Baze, disbelieving. The man Baze had fired at was fleeing the scene, but the other two were quickly approaching: “One on the balcony, one by the opposite wall.”

“Obviously,” Baze grunted -- to either topic, Chirrut wasn't sure which. He heaved his bowcaster up, muttering something about recharge, hitting its side with the palm of his hand.

When Baze's back was turned, a blaster shot -- ringing loud and true through the air -- barely brushed past Chirrut's ear.

Baze swore, very loudly. “Chirrut! You have to take cover!”

“I can handle it,” Chirrut pleasantly disagreed, choosing instead to charge the goon on the ground with his staff. The man was not well-trained, firing wildly as Chirrut dodged his predictably erratic shots. One quick swoop beneath the ankles and up the head, and he was out like a light.

Chirrut turned to triumphantly face Baze, already adopting his ‘ha, told you’ pose, when Baze yelled, panicking, “The balcony!”

The balcony goon -- Chirrut assumed that was what the three were, anyway -- lept from the high ground onto the sandy ground. It was a menacing sound, dirt flying up in clouds around their boots.

They were not humanoid, that was certain. No human was as bulky and fleshy as they. Nor as slimy.

The creature snorted, a foul-smelling mucus dripping from its nose. Its teeth were bared in a deadly grin, grunts and roars escaping between its teeth, which ground against each other with every step they took.

Baze took a wild few steps back, thudding when he hit a wall. Chirrut could feel his fear, and he knew that he had to intervene -- quickly.

One, two, three steps and he was flying, leaping onto the goon’s sweat-drenched back, clawing at the scarred back for a hold. The goon roared with pain, swatting at their back with thick fingers.

Chirrut swung his staff over the goon’s shoulder, throwing it up against their windpipe. They flailed, throwing themself and Chirrut around with frightening force -- if Chirrut let go, he would surely die.

But eventually the goon slowed. They stumbled, tripping over their own feet, until they fell face first into the harsh Jedha dirt.

It shook the city.

Chirrut rolled off the goon, breathing hard. His back ached and his knuckles hurt from holding his staff incorrectly. He closed his eyes, fully intending to take a nap right beside his fallen foe. The sun beat hard on his tired face. He was so done.

Baze just had to interrupt him, of course. He was weary, but Chirrut was wearier.

“Thank you,” Baze said. It came out kind of strangled. Chirrut knew, instinctively -- Baze was so used to taking care of Chirrut that he felt odd being taken care of by Chirrut.

They'd have to spar hand-to-hand someday. Then Baze would know.

Until then, Chirrut let himself be pulled back up to his feet by Baze. “You're welcome,” said the tired warrior-monk.

They squeezed hands for good luck. Chirrut let go first, this time.

“And don't forget your bowcaster,” Chirrut reminded Baze.

Baze heaved a fond sigh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your support!! I'm so glad you guys are enjoying this!
> 
> Also, stay tuned next week for 'Fake' Undercover Relationship antics :) (I know this chapter was kind of boring, but next one will make up for it - I promise)
> 
> (say hi on [tumblr](http://chirrutbzze.tumblr.com)!)
> 
> edit of edit: turns out it was bowcaster all along


	3. The First Kiss (20)

At age 20, Chirrut did not imagine he'd be chasing down criminals, but there he was.

Well, he'd kind of imagined chasing down criminals? Only ones who'd entered the Temple without permission, or who had taken more than what was welcome, of course.

But there Chirrut was, the end of his staff pointing at the throat of Thedd Waramba, one of Jedha's fiercest gang leaders. The older man was sweating at the temples, heartbeat racing through the rich threads of his shirt.

 _Good_ , Chirrut thought to himself, satisfied. Waramba was a despicable man who forced all tenants within 'his’ sector of the city to pay him an illegal fee. Poor families, like this one, couldn't afford to buy both 'protection' and enough food.

Chirrut was not surprised to find Waramba at the center of the guardian's troubles. He'd heard whispers of this particular low-life while wandering the streets, in the past.

Evidently, Baze had heard them as well. He dropped the final bodyguard to the ground, his disdain audible in the haphazard clap the body made with the ground.

“We're done here,” Baze half-grunted, half-proclaimed. He did not need to threaten Waramba with his bowcaster to be sure that he would not terrorize the family again.

Or, hopefully, any family. Would that be too much to ask for?

“You've made a dangerous enemy today,” Waramba coughed out, voice sounding almost wet. His fingers scrabbled at the ground, displacing pebbles. Chirrut realized that he may have hit the man harder than he'd expected.

Baze took Chirrut's arm, tugging him (reluctantly) away from the criminal. “Yeah? So have you.”

And that was that, for now. No dramatic supervillain cackle from Waramba, no last minute quip from Chirrut. (He would have to work on that.)

 

* * *

 

The marketplace was gaining business again, Jedha’s residents trickling in from around every street corner. Soon, they would fill every awful spot of the place -- shrieking and yelling and breaking Chirrut's focus. He'd have to grip Baze's shirt like a child once more, which was a little embarrassing.

“You did well,” Baze commented as they drew closer to the food district of the market. He knew that that was Chirrut's favorite -- it would take them the long way around, but Baze could buy him fresh bread from that old lady, Erma. Very thoughtful. “Saved my life several times.”

“You’re welcome.” He kept his tone light, offering Baze an easy smile. It was then that he realized that his breaths were uneven, and Chirrut began a typical zama-shiwo practice to regulate his breathing – which he should have been doing during the fight, but, well, better late than never.

“Hey!” Baze yelped, grabbing Chirrut’s arm. He dragged him from his stationary position, down the rough dirt marketplace. “We’ve gotta keep moving! What do you think you’re doing?”

“My breathing was off –” Chirrut began, but Baze was pinching his arm – “Ow! Ow! Baze, stop that!” he complained, trying to shake Baze off, to no avail.

Baze did stop pinching him, but Chirrut could tell he was holding in laughter. “Surely you’re dreaming! Stopping in the middle of the busy marketplace to breathe?”

Chirrut could feel his face burn red. “Is it really that busy?”

“Very.”

Chirrut shrugged the larger man off, face pinched into a frown. “Fine. You win.” He scratched the back of his neck, a little embarrassed. “I can’t see very well. Too tired.”

“You did take out several men back there,” Baze commented wisely. He sighed heavily, but it was all for dramatics. He took Chirrut’s free hand in his – the one not holding the deadly staff – and squeezed reassuringly. “I’ll help you.”

 

* * *

 

They continued down the marketplace, Baze’s worn hand tugging Chirrut’s this way and that. They did eventually stop at the bread stand, to Chirrut’s immense delight, and purchased a special bread with off-world herbs. It was warm and crunchy-golden on the outside, a rich delicacy for the simple warrior-monks.

Baze had originally refused even a bite, but ended up eating half the roll. Chirrut was good like that.

(Also, Chirrut wasn’t sure exactly where the money came from, which was probably bad, but Baze _had_ bought him a gift so he wasn’t about to complain.)

Just as he was about to swallow the last bite of the bun, Chirrut got a strange feeling that someone was watching them. It was different from before, where malintent was obvious, but it was still extremely disconcerting. Chirrut did not like it.

“Baze,” he hissed, squeezing his friend’s hand.

Baze nearly gagged on his bread, automatically sensing Chirrut's distress. He hurriedly moved into a defensive stance, hand inching toward his bowcaster. “Where –?”

A hand snatched out of nowhere, making Chirrut jump back, startled. The odd-smelling appendage wrapped itself around Baze’s arm as a woman cooed, “Baze Malbus! I haven’t seen you in ages!”

 _Malbus?_  Chirrut mouthed to himself, testing the shape of the word. His brow crinkled; the name felt strange.

“Why, it is you! Why haven’t you visited in ages? And who’s this fine young man with you?” she continued, going as far as to pinch Chirrut’s cheeks. She was evidently poor; her fingers scratchy and nails uneven. Even so, she was very annoying, and he tried to swat her away from his face. “Hmm?”

“Tersa!” Baze said, voice strained into something that could resemble happiness. “What a surprise!”

“I would think so!” the woman harrumphed, a tinkle of jewelry clashing together on her breast. She finally let go of Chirrut to, undoubtedly, assail Baze. “You probably thought I died, eh?”

“No, never,” Baze said weakly.

The woman turned back to Chirrut to pinch his cheek one more time for good measure. “And you still haven’t introduced me to your boyfriend here! Rude!”

Chirrut choked on the bit of bread in his mouth, coughing it back up as Baze hurriedly hit his back, trying to get the murderous morsel out of his windpipe.

“And now you’ve gone and killed him!” Tersa clucked, her jewelry clanking about. _Eugh_.

Baze guided Chirrut from the busy marketplace’s center, letting him suffer his indignity in a quieter alley. When the murder tool finally came back up, Chirrut spat it aside and sunk down the stone wall behind him, even more tired than he’d been after the fight.

Which was saying a lot, Force help him.

“Baaaze,” Tersa dragged out. Had she followed them? Would she never leave? If she even tried to pinch his cheeks again… “Introduce me! Or I’ll tell Rook exactly what happened to his pet when you were little –”

“Fine, fine!” Baze said loudly, then proceeded to mutter under his breath about some injustice or another as Chirrut sat helplessly by, not entirely sure what was going on. “This is Chirrut. He works with me at the Temple.”

“Ooh, how nice,” Tersa cooed, moving to Chirrut -- likely to pinch his cheek again -- but Baze was thankfully standing in her way. “And when did you start going together?”

“We're really not --” Baze insisted hotly.

“Well, then what are you doing in the City? Hmm? Not official Temple business -- you're both out of uniform,” Tersa explained coolly, playing with her jewelry. She obviously thought herself very clever. And she probably was... just not then.

It then dawned on Chirrut that two known guardians from the Whills could not, under any circumstances, be caught doing supremely un-guardian-like business. Like teaching a lesson to a filthy gangster, not matter how filthy the gangster was.

Chirrut and Baze would have to, as they say, take one for the team.

Chirrut picked up his staff from where it lay beside him, leaning on its weight to bring himself up. Praying that Baze would play along, he reached out for Baze's hand and gave it a warning squeeze. “You caught us,” he informed Tersa, who froze. “We're here to, ah, get-away -- in secret.”

Deception after deception. The coiled shame that hid in his belly reared its weary head, and Chirrut could feel his stomach churn.

Luckily, Tersa bought it.

“Baze, you cheeky man,” the older woman laughed, tossing her hair. She was humanoid, then. “Just tell me, next time!”

Baze squeezed Chirrut's hand so hard, he could swear his fingers were shattering. “Of course, Tersa. Now, we should really get going --”

Tersa would have none of that. “No! We must grab a meal together! I want to hear all about, er.” She paused. “What was your boyfriend's name?”

“Chirrut,” Chirrut supplied as pleasantly as he could manage.

“We have to back --”

“A drink! On me!” Tersa insisted, jewelry making the most awful clatter. It was starting to grate on Chirrut's nerves. He'd had a long day, what with the fight and his choking incident, and this “friendly” interlude was not helping.

Not to mention that these clothes were itchy. He wanted his robes back, badly.

Baze could probably feel his anxiety. As such, he steered Chirrut away from Tersa, feeding the woman excuse after excuse even as they got further and further from her.

“So sorry!” Baze yelled over his shoulder as he gave an overdramatic shrug and looped an arm around Chirrut. He was very sweaty, which made Chirrut uncomfortable for reasons he couldn’t quite place. It’d never bothered him before.

Tersa broadcasted disappointment very clearly, but Chirrut was just incredibly relieved to get away. He'd had more than enough stress that day already. And it was time to get back to the Temple, back home.

 

* * *

 

As he and Baze left the outskirts of Jedha City, he shrugged off Baze’s arm. If Baze was surprised or unhappy, he didn’t let him know.

They continued to walk in silence, the only noise the bustle of the city behind them and the dirt Baze kicked up underfoot. Chirrut never understood how he could move so lightly when he wanted to, yet so heavily as well. It was disconcerting at times; it threw off Chirrut.

“But really,” Chirrut said suddenly. Baze's steps tripped over themselves. “Baze Malbus?”

Baze laughed briefly, uncomfortably. “Was my name before joining the guardians.”

“You never mentioned,” Chirrut told him. Admittedly, he was a little hurt. They'd known each other for a decade now, and he hadn't even trusted Chirrut with his last name. Chirrut wondered what else he was missing -- what else he hadn't even thought to ask.

Ah. There it was.

He was a lackluster friend compared to Baze. What did he have to offer Baze? Baze was obviously self-sufficient (he could defend himself with ease, and could take care of himself in the City -- money out of thin air, much?). Baze didn't really need Chirrut, did he? Would his life be easier without Chirrut in it?

Deep down, Chirrut knew that was ridiculous. He'd just saved Baze's life several times, probably, and they got along incredibly well. Their bond went deeper than such small details.

And yet it seemed to hurt that he didn't know them.

“My name never really came up,” Baze said, tone hammered out into something resembling even.

Chirrut would not relent. “What else should I know?”

“That's difficult to answer,” Baze said.

“Pick.”

Baze was silent. The stretch between them seemed to echo with Chirrut’s ever-rapid heartbeat, the bustle of Jedha City fading behind them.

“I was eight when I lost my parents to the criminals of Jedha City. Eleven when I joined the Temple. The years in between were spent with Tersa and the other City orphans.”

Chirrut thumbed his staff. “Was there no orphanage?”

“The women who run the orphanage are very strange,” Baze said. “They shield their faces from the children; only their hands can be seen. Frightening, I should think, for a child.”

“But you've seen plenty of non-humanoids like that,” Chirrut interjected.

Baze shrugged, his heavy bowcaster slipping off his shoulder. Chirrut caught it just in time, shoving the strap back up Baze's broad shoulder, to Baze's stiff bewilderment. “What was that for?”

Chirrut stifled a nervous laugh. “I'm helping you!”

“Uh,” Baze said very eloquently.

“Yes, of course, you can take care of yourself --”

“Thank you,” Baze said very heavily. It was largely to the effect of merely shutting Chirrut up, and it worked.

Chirrut blew a raspberry on the back of his hand.

And all of a sudden, all of the stress of the day hit the two of them like waves slapping the shore. Chirrut had to stop Baze as giggles racked his body, his fingers clinging to Baze's scratchy -- and shaking; Baze was muffling his own laughter -- shirt.

“I - I can't,” Chirrut giggled, trying to hide his face in embarrassment. It was practically glowing pink. Not very dignified for a guardian.

Baze tried prying Chirrut's fingers from his shirt, but his hands were quivering with emotion and unspent adrenaline, and his only succeeded in getting sweat all over both their hands. “Stop!” he protested through a huge grin. Chirrut could feel it, in all its radiance.

“We actually f-fought gangsters? And didn't die!”

“Ye-ep.”

Chirrut's eyes lit up. “A-And bread!”

Baze steadied himself on Chirrut's shoulder, trying to get a grip on himself. “Mm, ye-ep.”

“And - And Tersa was so -!”

“Mm,” Baze mumbled, fumbling as he untangled his not-free hand from between Chirrut's.

Chirrut yanked his hands free, causing Baze to cry out. “And she thought we were boyfriends!”

“Imagine that,” Baze said faintly.

That struck a thought, though. “It'd be a good cover,” Chirrut mused, moving on quickly from his laughing fit. “Because we've got to come into the City again. There is so much to fix.”

“What?”

Chirrut could feel Baze staring at him, so he began to patiently explain. “Well, we can't just step in once and disappear. We have reputations to build. I expect --”

“No, no,” Baze said quickly, “the cover.”

“Ah!” Chirrut was rather pleased with himself; he'd developed a good plan. “We'll have to sneak out to the City more often. Both our trainings have become more relaxed, so it should be easier to ask for time off. However, if we pose as lovers, there will be less questions asked. My guardian will not want to know what I, or, we, get up to. Plus,” Chirrut added thoughtfully, “I think he approves of you.”

“Sure,” Baze said slowly. Chirrut began to worry a little, wondering if his friend was alright. Was he dehydrated? They'd had bread but no water or fruit, so maybe Chirrut could go find a well --

“Stop staring at me like that,” Baze complained, waving Chirrut off as he began walking once more. “I'm fine!”

“You're not --”

“I agree with your plan,” Baze said loudly.

And that was the end of it. From then on, they would pose their journeys into Jedha City as dates, when really they were there to kick ass, against the Temple’s code.

And while the kicking ass bit was consistent, to Chirrut's delight, the posing part of their relationship became more foggy.

 

* * *

 

Chirrut and Baze went into the City a couple more times that week to check in on the guardian’s family. Each time, Chirrut made sure to tell his guardian as to ease his conscience, although he was just placating the man with a lie, so, he wasn't really all that good, anyway.

Couldn't Baze and Chirrut's adventures count as “dates”, though? While the two of them weren't romantically involved, they did share fond memories and eat lots of bread. And they built on their relationship via real life teamwork (also known as fighting “bad guys”). And they already knew each other quite intimately.

Interesting.

 

* * *

 

However, it wasn't until after they’d secured the nervous guardian's family's situation that Chirrut could afford time to expand on that thought.

Actually, it was more like he was forced to? Baze had wanted to buy an “actual lunch, not another lump of bread” one afternoon. It was easy to convince Baze to go into the nearest eatery, which just happened to be where Chirrut needed to go.

There were strange rumors about this eat-stop -- of a doctor who could do the strange and unnatural. The doctor could even stop death, and, yet, his patients were more nightmare than reality. There were street tales of women without faces and men without chests, until stories blended together and spat out webs of lies and truths.

And Chirrut wondered, if, maybe, there could be a small possibility, that perhaps, possibly, the doctor could give him eyes.

He wasn't holding out any hope, of course. These were only rumors. They could just be bedtime stories to put young children to behave and sleep. Like a bogeyman of sorts.

Lost in his thoughts, Chirrut did not notice until too late that Baze was arguing loudly with the small restaurant's hostess.

“Can't you make room for my friend and I? He's blind! Would you deny --”

The hostess’ long fingernails clacked along the table as she said merely, “C’mon, sir, I've an honorable establishment to run.” Her voice was thick and scratchy -- she was likely a smoker. “Just give me your names and you'll wait like anyone else.”

Chirrut knew that Baze was this close to exploding, so he grabbed his hand to stop him from doing anything foolish --

“Geroff me!” a man snarled. He smelled like burnt leaves and blood, and swatted Chirrut away in angered annoyance.

That, Chirrut thought very decidedly, was not Baze.

The Real Baze took Chirrut's hand, squeezed it once, then turned around and punched the man.

Not Baze stumbled into the wall behind him, dust shaking forth from the ceiling. The chatter in the restaurant died down, all eyes turning to Baze, Chirrut, and Not Baze.  
Chirrut waved very smally at their audience.

Not Baze roared, practically shaking the walls once more.

“Fight me!” shouted Not Baze, spittle flying from his mouth. Chirrut imagined he was very large and that he had tusks, because this man was incredibly intimidating and he knew that even Baze must be daunted.

Or not -- because Baze then determined, somehow, that fighting Not Baze was an excellent idea and Chirrut was sure that Baze would lose an eye or two until the hostess screeched,

“There will be NO fighting under this roof!”

and accentuated her point with two blaster shots out her establishment's window.

The patrons, previously dead silent, quickly resumed chatter, and the hostess grabbed Baze and Chirrut's forearms, dragging them up a set of stairs and plopping them in a table far from Not Baze.

She sighed gravely, then patted Chirrut kindly on the shoulder. “That was very good, what you did for your lover here,” she told Baze seriously. “Lyon used to do that for me, but he's too old for that now.”

“You're mistaken,” Baze hastily corrected her, “we're just very good friends --”

“Good friends, my ass!” the old lady cackled, swatting Chirrut's shoulder. (Why was he always the one being abused by Baze's problems? Force help him.) “You look at him like he's got Heaven on his face. And you,” she said pointedly to Chirrut, “he's a good 'un. Don't let him go.”

And with that, she waltzed off. Chirrut never did get her name. He rather liked her, so it was a shame.

Baze was staring at Chirrut. Chirrut could not quite decide what kind of staring it was, so he ignored the staring and asked Baze, “What did Not Baze look like?”

Baze snapped out of whatever trance he was in. “Who?”

“The man whose hand I took. Accidentally,” he added.

“Ah…” Baze leaned back in his chair, the stool creaking with his weight. “Big, fleshy, muscular, really scary, lots of drool and spikes --”

“You're just trying to boost your own credit!” Chirrut accused, laughing.

Baze kicked him under the table. “Okay, maybe,” he half-admitted.

“Maybe,” Chirrut mumbled to himself in disbelief, shaking his head as he shook the pain out of his foot. (Ouch.) “How about the hostess?”

Baze looked around casually, but Chirrut knew he was checking for potential threats. “That's more interesting,” he said lowly. “She had a piece of metal going around her left wrist. She hides it under her shirt and jewelry.”

“Prosthetic?”

“Illegal,” Baze confirmed. “But, Chirrut, if it is… It's unlike anything we've seen.”

“I don't see anything --”

“Stop it,” Baze said.

“Sorry.”

“I meant that prosthetics like this shouldn't exist. The hand was more human than droid. In fact,” he said slowly, “it was very much human. Chirrut, I think it was really human.”

“Then the bogeyman is real,” Chirrut said darkly.

Baze kicked him again, this time getting a complaint out of Chirrut. “The who?”

“There's a doctor here,” Chirrut said. “He might be able to give me eyes.”

 

* * *

 

As soon as Chirrut explained, Baze was on board.

“How do we meet the doctor, then?”

“I don't know,” Chirrut admitted, fiddling with his cloth napkin. “I just got confirmation that he actually exists, right?”

“Right.” Baze looked around the restaurant as Chirrut reached out to the Force. It felt fainter than usual; a chill ran down Chirrut's spine. Was he losing his connection? (Was that even possible?) Because the Force felt more like threads than spools, and it was even beginning to fray.

His time was up.

Chirrut's stomach coiled in on itself, squeezing his midsection until he could hardly breathe.

(The words of the Jedi from so long ago came floating back:

_Perhaps there is Something small with him. Perhaps it is merely the influence of the Kyber crystals. But it is too small for our ways._

_I cannot feel enough of the Force in him._ )

“Chirrut!”

A hand was shaking him frantically, firm fingers dragging him back to reality.

“Chirrut, the hostess passed something to a hooded, thin Chiss --”

“Sorry,” Chirrut murmured, mouth dry. His head was spinning, and his thoughts were scattered. It was as if he was dehydrated and low on sleep, at once, which he'd experienced before (and it wasn't pleasant at all). He coughed, trying to get some feeling back into his throat.

Baze’s seat screeched backward as he moved to squat by Chirrut. “Chirrut, listen --”

“I'm fine,” Chirrut said hoarsely. He gagged, then hit his chest several times. “Ugh.”

“You are not fine,” Baze warned his friend.

“I am!” Chirrut insisted, even as he slumped forward, head aching. His head hit the table with dull thump.

Someone approached them, footsteps rushed. They cried, hurried, “We’ve got to get him to --”

Chirrut blacked out.

 

* * *

 

When he woke up, someone was fanning something over his face. It was very calming, and cool. Very nice. Was he dead, and in the next life?

“I know you’re awake,” said a heavenly Force spirit, who sounded like Baze. “You can open your eyes.”

Oh.

Chirrut opened his eyes, and Baze patted his head. “Ow. Your hair is really pointy. Hurts my fingers.”

Chirrut smiled softly, patting Baze’s hand as it continued to pat his hair. “Sorry.” They sat there in quiet for a few moments, Chirrut taking in the overwhelming smell of spices and the cool air, and Baze continuing to play with his short hair, customary for all guardians. It helped keep Chirrut grounded as he got a better sense of where he was. He was very disoriented after passing out like that.

“Where are we?” Chirrut asked finally.

“Back room of the restaurant.” Baze patted his head one more time, then took back his hands. (Which made Chirrut a little sad, but what could he do?) “The hostess is very fond of you.”

“I’m almost disappointed that we’ll have to bust her,” Chirrut said, but it came out so chirpy that Baze asked him to never attempt acting.

He also told him that there would be no ‘busting’ until Chirrut had recovered.

“I’m fine!” Chirrut complained, waving Baze off as he tried to force Chirrut back into the makeshift cot. “I was just… dizzy. You know.”

“People don’t pass out when they’re dizzy,” Baze said doubtfully.

“You’re too big,” Chirrut informed him snippily. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Force,” Baze muttered, before Chirrut shoved him off and began the struggle to the door.

It was a great struggle. As it turned out, he was more sick than he’d thought.

“Ridiculous,” Baze huffed as he pulled Chirrut off the floor. Chirrut threw his weight over Baze’s shoulders, determined to make this as difficult as possible for Baze, if he was to be reduced to such a state. Baze, however, seemed to find no trouble in dragging his friend back to bed.

It seemed very easy for Baze, in fact. _Too_ easy.

“How are you like this?” Chirrut mumbled, feeling himself settle back into fatigue. “Always able and giving. I must be such a grievance.”

“No,” said Baze, “never.” He pulled a scratchy blanket back over Chirrut, returning to patting his head fondly.

Chirrut brushed him off. “You are lying.”

“No,” Baze said, and the fierceness of his conviction touched something inside Chirrut.

“Baze,” said Chirrut. “You are a very good friend.”

“I…” Baze trailed off, and Chirrut realized that there was something going unsaid. Something, perhaps, that was very important.

He wanted to hear whatever it was, badly. But sleep and fatigue tugged at his weary limbs, dragging his eyelids closed.

 _Bad timing_ , Chirrut thought, regretting every ounce of whatever stupid decision he’d made. He couldn’t quite recall it then.

As the world drifted further and further away from his thoughts, Chirrut faintly recognized a strange and wonderful new sensation: There was something being pressed to his forehead, something warm and soft and reassuring. A promise.

This, he knew, had to be a kiss.

He was glad that it was Baze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Decraniated arc will be tied up next chapter. :)
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, and for all your support!! Hope you enjoyed!


	4. The First Admittance (20-21)

Chirrut was 20 when he became blind all over again.

His time was up, and it hurt more than he liked to admit.

But he couldn't, wouldn't, let it get to him. He refused to do so; instead, he relearned all that he knew without the Force. Chirrut remembered that before he could fight, he had memorized the Temple grounds. Surely it would be easy to retrace that! He'd recognized every pillar and tile of the Temple. Even now, as he toed his way out his quarters, he could remember the feeling of the different stones beneath his fingers.

Baze was with him, of course. Ever since the incident, they'd become inseparable.

Chirrut had at first tried to decline Baze's help in navigating his way around the Temple, but it had always been a struggle to get rid of Baze. He was becoming more stubborn by the day.

“Baze?”

A grunt on his right, and a shifting of robes. “What?”

“I need shoes.”

“What?” Baze balked. Chirrut allowed a smile to grace his mouth, as Baze always managed to do when he least meant to. “Did you forget them inside --”

“They're on my feet. I can't see and even I know that.”

Baze huffed. He did not attempt to make physical contact, which he usually did at this point, whether it be a pat on the shoulder or nudge to the gut. Was he tired? Chirrut was, but Chirrut had only taken ten or so steps, whereas Baze had been training all morning. So, really, Baze should be  _more_ tired.

“You need new shoes,” Baze said, realizing what Chirrut was hinting at, “and you want to go back to Jedha City.”

Chirrut smiled-grimaced, stumbling a bit on the hem his robe as he grasped about for a handhold.

Baze did not help him. Instead, he laughed.

“It's not my fault!” Chirrut complained.

“Right,” Baze chortled. “The Force tripped you.”

“No,” Chirrut complained. “The Force took advantage of my blind state to exert its influence over how I viewed the world.”

Baze actually spluttered. “What?”

“Plus, I'm tired,” Chirrut added. He sat himself cross-legged in the middle of the corridor outside his quarters. In front of him would be the wall that served as a railing for the second floor of the temple, stretching over the courtyard. There was good weather recently -- the air being a little more humid than usual for the moon -- so there would be some sparse grass growing on the mound.

The grass was very soft, Chirrut remembered. And Baze liked to say that it was very green and vibrant.

“I like NiJedha,” Chirrut admitted to Baze.

He imagined that Baze was giving him a very peculiar look. “It's narrow and dusty, and you lost the Force there. Why?”

“We have very good memories there,” Chirrut informed him. “We fought bad guys and ate bread! And, besides, Guardian work gets very dull. No one dares touch the kyber crystals, so all we do is practice combat and meditate and drink non-hallucinatory tea.”

Baze made a hum of agreement. “I do it for the families,” he confided. “The fighting. We have the means. We should've used them before.”

“They told us that protecting the kyber crystals has always been the highest calling.”

“And yet taking care of NiJedha is more satisfying,” Baze said, serious.

The twist of guilt that had haunted Chirrut since the start of their misadventures was back. He did not respond to Baze. Instead, he tapped the tiles of the floor and said,

“It's going to rain soon.”

Baze moved to sit down next to him, slowly. He, like Chirrut, was tired. Their shoulders touched and the nerves in Chirrut's fingers ached.

“It never rains,” Baze said, amusement tainting his faux skepticism -- Chirrut had never been wrong before, and Baze did love the rain, when it decided to come.

“It will. Soon.”

They sat in quiet for a few minutes, relishing the simple company of one another. Chirrut counted Baze's breaths: felt the inhale, exhale of his chest. Life felt more simple when organized on breaths.

He closed his eyes to begin meditation. With Baze quiet and reassuring and the day spread out at his feet, it simply felt like the right thing to do. Chirrut began to focus on that mantra from so long ago,which had never really left his memory -- merely been moved to the back of his mind.

But he could still remember how his guardian said it, where he put slight emphases and the speed at which he said the simple words. It was an easy prayer; Chirrut suspected it was written for and passed on to small children.

“I am One with the Force,” Chirrut said softly, “and the Force is with me. I am One with the Force,” he said as he tried to loosen his fingers, which were stiff and immobile from nerves, still, “and the Force is with me.”

He repeated this a few times to lose himself to its relief.

It worked. Perhaps a little too well, because when he returned to consciousness, Baze was passed out on his lap and it was raining.

“Baze!” he shouted, shaking his friend's shoulder until he startled awake, clumsy and falling back on Chirrut's shoulder. “Ow!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Baze mumbled, evidently still sleep-addled. “What happened?”

“It’s raining!”

Baze was silent for a second.

Then he suddenly whooped, scooping a laughing Chirrut into his arms and rushing them both down the stone Temple steps and into the courtyard. Chirrut clung to Baze without embarrassment; in fact, it was all he could do to keep from beaming wildly.

Chirrut could hear the squish of the mud beneath Baze's boots and could feel the cold rain on his skin. It felt like life, and earth, and Chirrut remembered with startling clarity that that was Baze, ever since childhood: the earth, and now, life.

Suddenly, Chirrut found himself covered in mud, clothes getting soaked and muddied by the second, bum flat on the ground. Baze was laughing uproariously.

“Not funny!” Chirrut protested loudly, quickly gathering a handful of mud in his cupped hands.

Baze yelped, “Put that down!” but not before he, too, had gooey mud coating his robes. “Chirrut!”

Now it was Chirrut's time to laugh; he scrabbled to his feet and pulled his shoes off, tossing them who-knows-where. He almost slipped in the watery grass-mud and his heart skipped a beat, but he reached out and grabbed onto Baze, and he knew then that he would never have to fall with Baze by his side.

(And also that now, he definitely needed new shoes.)

He smiled as wide as his aching cheeks would allow, and he could feel Baze’s smile shining, too.

 

* * *

 

They did not return to the doctor’s case for some months. By then, Baze was 22, Chirrut was 21, and venturing into the heart of Jedha City had become a regular adventure.

Some days they just wandered the market. There was a plethora and variety of goods, from heavy perfumes to fragrant foods. There was a lot of religious content, and soon enough Baze and Chirrut were familiar with the different pilgrim groups who wandered the streets. By a few weeks, it was common knowledge to the right people that they were Guardians of the Whills, but thankfully, it was kept relatively quiet.

When they reached the section of the market where they sold children’s toys, cheap little dolls and the like, Baze would point out and describe different trinkets, Chirrut encouraging him by asking questions and saying “hmm? hmm” every few minutes. It made Baze content, and that made Chirrut happy.

Some days, life was not so simple, and Chirrut and Baze found themselves solving problems using their weapons more often than their words. Baze, as it turned out, had been quite popular as a child, and his status as a Guardian gave him access to a very reliable wealth of information. It was there that they found the underground problems of the city, buried beneath the many heavy layers of the holy city.

 

* * *

 

When Baze was 22 and Chirrut was 21, Baze woke him up two hours too early to tell him to get ready for Gathering.

“For what?”

Baze ruffled his bedhead, eliciting an unhappy grunt from Chirrut. “Gathering! We're trying a new religion today.”

“I already have a belief,” Chirrut said, disgruntled. He mushed his hair back into place and tossed a well-aimed pillow at Baze, who batted it away without thinking. “I believe in the Force. All is as the Force --”

“We're going undercover,” Baze explained patiently, pulling the blanket off (the thankfully clothed) Chirrut impatiently. “New proof against the Decraniated doctor.”

This peaked Chirrut's interest. “The woman with the silver band from all those months ago… The eatery.”

“The doctor has changed location, but yes.”

Baze poked Chirrut's side (“ow!”) and tossed a stack of fabric -- no, clothing -- at him. “Red robes,” he called over his shoulder, leaving the room. “We're leaving in two minutes!”

Chirrut cursed; Baze snorted. “What's the rush?”

“Gathering starts in ten minutes.”

Chirrut groaned and tossed off his clothes, changing into the foreign clothes as quickly as he could. Despite himself, he was excited for the challenge.

And, well. It had been a year since he'd lost his sight through the Force, but he'd overcome that. Sort of. He couldn't help but wish for a new tool. Surely the doctor who could stop death would be able to restore sight.

He tossed on his shoes and grabbed his staff, chasing after Baze with his heart thumping out his chest.

 

* * *

 

Walking through the quiet, empty market -- the sun was hardly shining, as morning had barely cracked -- and Chirrut still couldn't sense the awesome sense of adventure that thrilled his bones. He'd had these sort of fascinating encounters before, but going undercover was rather new.

The day in the eatery hardly counted. They'd been there for maybe ten minutes, and Baze still managed to pick a fight. Chirrut lived for the rush of the fight, but he knew how to choose his battles. Baze angered too quickly to be picky.

“How much further?” Chirrut asked, adjusting his robes. They weren't as itchy as his civilian clothes, but they were heavier than his Temple garb. So, ultimately, just as upsetting as the civilian clothing.

Baze thumbed the back of his hand; Chirrut appreciated the gesture. “Soon. Building's straight ahead, there's a crimson lamp-light in the window.”

“Ominous,” Chirrut commented dryly.

Baze nudged him in the ribs, Chirrut unable to stifle a small giggle. Not a nervous giggle. Of course not. He was used to this sort of work.

Relying on his staff, Chirrut slowly climbed the steps to the religious house -- or whatever this was. Baze waited patiently for him at the top, knowing from experience that Chirrut preferred to do these things himself. (“It’s the only way I’ll ever learn,” he’d insisted several times, waving Baze off.)

When they both reached the door, steps becoming more hesitant as they realized that there was no turning back.

“What should we expect?” Chirrut asked, swallowing down whatever qualms he had. “And what's the escape plan? You don't have your bowcaster.”

“I may not be as good as you, Chirrut, but I do know hand-to-hand,” Baze said dryly. “And as for what to do… just follow my lead.”

“That's hardly reassuring!”

“It'll have to do,” Baze said simply, pushing open the doors. Chirrut winced as they scraped, stone on stone -- it was old enough that there was no airlock to it. That was interesting.

Chirrut trailed only a few steps behind Baze, relying on his staff to find his way through the hall. It seemed large enough, but not empty. Probably there were some 'artifacts' or 'scrolls' gracing the walls, all likely phony. He couldn't feel a trace of the Force.

“We're almost to the Gathering place,” Baze warned Chirrut quietly, not slowing or doing anything to tip a member off. “I don't know how crowded it will be, but I will make sure we sit together.”

“Will they ask us anything?”

“Doubt it. Quiet, these ones are. You’d hardly notice them in the market, if not for their bizarre rituals.”

“They're not the ones who sell bird skulls?”

“No, and that hasn't happened yet. You're thinking of the ones who sell painted birds’ eggs.”

Chirrut made a noise of disgust. “Then these are the true charlatans.”

Baze hummed. “Yeah.”

“The ones who baptize screaming babies.”

“Bring them into the Force from an early age,” Baze agreed, and Chirrut knew he was about to laugh because Chirrut always gave this talk, but he really was upset, and he needed Baze to understand why.

“We're all One from the start!” Chirrut protested, annoyed already with the Gathering. “That's absolutely unnecessary! And when they're children, nonetheless! They wouldn't understand the bond at that age, so it's really just a waste of water --”

“Respect all who are faithful,” Baze interrupted wisely.

Chirrut bristled, picking anxiously at his sleeves. “They’re charlatans --”

“-- we're entering in three, two, now --”

“You missed --!”

Baze gripped Chirrut's shoulder in friendly warning before walking him into the very, very large amphitheater.

 

* * *

 

The first thing that Chirrut noticed was that, oddly enough, the Force felt weaker amongst the throng of people than it was when they first entered.

The second thing Chirrut noticed was that everyone was pin-drop silent, except the man furthest away: the Head.

“And let the Force be a blessing unto you all,” said the Head, his voice scratchy -- like the eatery’s hostess. This, Chirrut thought, was likely the husband to the hostess they’d met all those years ago. He remembered her with vivid clarity, having been charmed by her no-nonsense attitude from the start. His smoker’s voice reminded him of her.

“Force be willing,” the audience echoed.

The Head’s robes dragged on the stone-cold ground, and Chirrut could hear the clack of wooden heels. He must be wearing shoes with platforms to make himself look taller, or --

“He’s on stilts,” Baze breathed into his ear, nudging Chirrut forward until they were standing on the edge of a pew, next to a foul smelling Gatherer. Like moldy bantha fur, or worse.

Chirrut gagged and Baze nudged him sharply.

“May you all be seated,” the Head drawled, voice echoing throughout the hall. Chirrut wondered if there were balconies, too. How many people attended Gatherings like these?

 

* * *

 

The rest of the Gathering was uneventful. Baze nudged Chirrut several times to keep him from falling asleep (Chirrut was so uninterested in whatever nonsense these people had to say about the Force; they clearly had a distorted vision of what it was) but other than that, Chirrut believed that their undercover work went relatively well.

At the end of the Gathering, once the offering plate had been passed around (which the Head claimed would go toward renovations for the hall, but Chirrut could feel the lie swarming around his tongue and realized that the generous coins would be feeding the Head’s appetite), Baze guided Chirrut around back to a secret door.

“A secret door,” Chirrut said dubiously. He tapped his staff against the door, shaking his head when it thudded without an echo.

“Door is too thick to echo,” Baze told him. “Anyway, we’ll have to find a way to open it without attracting suspicion. Or,” he added, “setting off a bomb.”

“This is far-fetched, even with your contacts!”

“Maybe,” Baze said. Even so, he knelt in front of the door, likely examining it for any locks, handles, or anything else along those lines. Chirrut was about to give up and walk out (he was so tired of this Gathering, of the Gatherers, with all their unorthodox practices and beliefs, and there was no solid sign of the doctor and it was all probably a fool’s errand!) when Baze gave a small “aha!”

“What?”

“There’s a pad here,” Baze said, guiding Chirrut’s hand to a finely engraved square. There was a slight sense of static; Baze had been right. Chirrut was pleasantly surprised. “We’ll need a hand.”

“A hand,” Chirrut mused, hope crawling along his heart despite himself. He had a very good plan.

 

* * *

 

He came back with the Head a couple minutes later, shoving the stammering man at Baze. “There’s your hand.”

Baze picked up the Head, and shook him a little. “How’d you --” he started, though evidently pleased.

“Oh, I’m a poor blind man! Save me with your magical Force powers!” Chirrut tittered in falsetto, batting his eyelashes as Baze muffled his own laughter. The Head groaned, robes flailing every-which-way.

More seriously, Chirrut added, “Sir, you are a liar and a cheat, exploiting these people’s faith for your own money-making schemes. I hope you pay for your trespasses against the Force. But, for now, we just need your hand.”

“You’re cutting off my hand!” the Head wailed, voice scratchy with heavy use. There was probably more flailing involved. “Barbarians!”

“That’s not very nice,” Baze commented gruffly. He took the Head’s wrist and pressed it to the door, waiting for the nice beep, beep before letting go and shoving the Head back at Chirrut.

“I don’t want him,” Chirrut complained, holding the wretched man at arm’s length.

“Bye,” Baze said, entering the secret door.

Chirrut groaned, then decided to promptly shove the Head into a nearby closet (these ones were not airlocked doors, and had no handles on the inside, preventing any escape attempt) before following Baze into the unknown.

 

* * *

 

It was at times like these that Chirrut achingly wished he weren’t blind.

It was such a fascinating room, see. (Haha, see.) Chirrut could hear fizzing and whirring and screeching and scraping, but it was such an awful cacophony that he couldn’t focus on anything around him.

Like most things, it ended with an earsplitting headache.

“Baze --”

Baze shushed him, and Chirrut stepped closer to him, frowning. “What --”

“Shh!” Baze tapped his arm with something thin and cold and metal, and Chirrut realized that Baze was looking through a datapad.

“The doctor’s?” Chirrut whispered.

“It’s in a strange language,” Baze whispered back. “It’s similar to Aurebesh --”

“But you’re terrible at Aurebesh!”

“I know!” Baze groaned. He tapped at the pad’s screen furiously, clearly upset. “That’s why I kept shushing you!”

Chirrut nodded sagely. “Good.”

Chirrut wandered the room, carefully guiding himself so that he did not knock over any of the various experiments that cluttered the space. They smelled odd -- not as bad as the wet-bantha he’d stood next to during the Gathering -- like strong vinegar, or heavy smoke. It was hard to put a finger on the exact smell.

As he walked down a long table, covered in notes and experiments, he felt himself drawn to a particular device. A warm feeling in his heart equated the experience to what he’d felt in the kyber caves, when he’d begun crafting his weapon.

He trailed his fingers over a box. It was smooth to the touch, but there were buttons here and there. He pressed one -- random, a wild guess, but it hadn't felt dangerous -- and there was a pulse, strong enough that his heart skipped a beat, and he could see Baze.

He could see Baze.

Chirrut wanted to whoop in joy, or grab Baze for a hug, because this was like the Force restoring his vision, on a smaller scale, albeit, but it was a blessing and Chirrut was overjoyed --

\-- but his tongue was locked to the roof of his mouth and all he could do was grin, and beam, and thank the Force in all its power.

Unfortunately, the moment was ruined with a strange, unnatural clanking.

Fearing that he would lose his blessing, Chirrut stuffed it under his large, heavy robes. (At least they were good for that.)

“ _You've…_ ” a strange, hissing voice began, and Chirrut stumbled back, because this voice was different and different wasn't necessarily bad, but This Different made him wish for death and that was unnatural, “ _... touched my things._ ”

Baze did not answer, but Chirrut could still see him, and he knew that whatever Baze saw had shaken him to the core.

And so, voice shaking, Chirrut said, “We meant no harm.”

The Thing -- it must be the Doctor -- chuckled darkly. It echoed off the glasses and walls and hollow equipment. “ _Lies. You have something of mine tucked away, little Guardian._ ”

“Chirrut?” Baze asked, uneasy.

Chirrut thought for precisely zero seconds before he ran up to the Doctor -- his presence only a faint glimmer according to his new device, but struck home with a well placed swipe of his staff to the jaw.

Something cracked, pleasing Chirrut.

“Chirrut, we have to go!” Baze yelled, grabbing him by the back of the collar and nearly dragging him up the stairs. The steps hit the backs of Chirrut's heels, to his annoyance.

The Doctor screamed, and Baze noticeably winced. Heavy footsteps chased them up the stairs, Baze using up his adrenaline to get them both out the door and slam! it in the Doctor's face.

The Doctor threw his weight against it, howling bloody murder and accusing them (“thieves! cheats! liars!”) but Baze and Chirrut stood their ground, using every ounce of strength in their bones to keep the door shut.

“What do we do?” Chirrut asked frantically.

“You're the smarter one!”

“Says who?! You're the one who brought us here in the first place!”

“Consult the Force!”

“That's not how the Force works!”

“Step aside!” hissed a woman, shoving her way between Baze and Chirrut. She slapped her hand to the pad from before -- it gave a bzz, bzz this time before activating what had to be the heaviest lock Chirrut had ever heard.

It clunked into place.

Chirrut and Baze stumbled back from the door, muscles weak. Baze actually collapsed to the ground, while Chirrut just let his staff clatter to the ground and bent over, trying to catch his breath.

“Never thought I'd see you two again,” said the woman, amused. Wait. Chirrut recognized that voice -- heavy and cracking, it could only have been the hostess! “I gotta thing for faces. Bit of a handy knack.”

“I…” Chirrut's mouth ran dry, and he coughed. “Sorry. Thank you.”

“Get outta here,” the woman grumbled good-naturedly, shoving Chirrut's shoulder lightly. “Though,” she added, “I'm glad to see you're still goin’ strong.”

Baze groaned, heaving himself back to his feet. “What're you even doing here?”

“Lousy husband owns the place,” the woman answered casually.

Chirrut added pointedly, about the Doctor, “And what's he doing here?”

“Some relative or another,” the woman answered. “He's brilliant, but a bit banged over the head.” She looked up and down the hall, then leaned towards them and whispered, “'Course, he fixed my hand up so I can't complain. I'll cover for you two. Just,” she paused, glancing back at the secret door, “promise you won't come back.”

Chirrut nodded, and Baze said, “Of course.”

Satisfied, the woman waved them off. “Stay out of trouble!”

This time, Chirrut grabbed Baze, who groaned at the thought of running again. Chirrut, on the other hand, happily dragged them out of the Gathering place, glad to be rid of the scammers and the screams of the dreadful Doctor.

 

* * *

 

“That was.”

“Pretty crazy,” Chirrut agreed. He nursed a cup of some hot tea -- he couldn’t remember the name then, but he knew that it was sweet and that it made him feel a little numb, but in a good way. (Should he suffer any further excitement, he feared his heart would not just burst, but explode.) "What did the Doctor look like, anyway?"

"Humanoid," Baze said thoughtfully, "but it is difficult to say. Too dark to see well."

"You were very frightened," Chirrut teased.

Baze snorted, but did not reply.

They sat in silence for a few moments. Chirrut sensed he'd said something not quite right. He drank his tea to fill the silence. The shop's owner had retreated to the kitchen after giving them their tea; his was the only shop open that early in the morning. (Chirrut still wasn't sure why _this_ shop was open.)

“You know,” began Baze. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Amazing,” Chirrut commented dryly; Baze kicked him under the table.

“A year ago,” Baze began again, “you had a plan for us being… undercover. In Jedha City.”

Chirrut scratched his head.

“You said we should pretend to be lovers,” Baze ground out painfully.

“Aah,” Chirrut said. He took a sip of his tea, unsure of where this conversation was going.

Baze took a deep breath and leaned forward. “When we faced the Doctor, I thought I was going to die --”

“That’s normal enough,” Chirrut told him, patting his hand across the table.

Baze groaned. “Stop talking!”

“Fine,” Chirrut said. He set down his drink and offered Baze an encouraging smile. Whatever was going on with was important to him, and so Chirrut couldn’t let himself be distracted by the adrenaline high that was starting to settle in amongst the fuzz of his mind.

“Right. So. I thought I was going to die, and I thought you were going to, too.” Baze tapped his own tea cup nervously, a flutter of fingernails against the tinkle of glass. “But then you just… attacked the Doctor and I - I thought instead…”

Chirrut waited patiently. Baze tossed back a gulp of tea, and so Chirrut took a polite sip of his own.

“I knew then that, ah, I love you.”

Chirrut spat out his tea, choking on the scalding hot liquid. He had not expected that, at all, and now Baze was groaning and that was not good, because he was not joking with Chirrut, he was very serious, and now Chirrut had gone and made a big mess of things --

“You - what?”

“I love you, Chirrut, and I think I have for a long time,” Baze said, and there was a sickened sort of tone to it, and Chirrut really had messed up. Big time.

He had to fix it, now.

“Shut up and kiss me,” Chirrut said fiercely, grabbing out for Baze’s face across the table. Baze, laughing nervously, complied, putting his face between Chirrut’s hands.

It was a simple kiss -- nothing mind-bending, really. He’d heard some of Jedha City’s residents kiss in the alleys, and it was usually loud and sloppy and, honestly, kind of gross.

But when Chirrut’s lips met Baze’s, it was chaste, a simple meeting of two good souls, and perfectly natural. Chirrut would say that it was like they were meant for each other, but that was already understood. Baze smiled against his lips and Chirrut whispered, “I love you, too” into his ear.

 

* * *

 

By the time they finished their tea, the sun had risen to a healthy height. Chirrut and Baze left the store glowing like stars, hands entwined.

"By the way," Baze said, "what did you take from the Doctor?"

Chirrut planted a quick kiss to Baze's cheek, and noted that it heated up a little. (His cheeks warmed, too, despite himself.) "I'll tell you later."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading!! :D Feedback is always awesome to hear; comments are very much appreciated!
> 
> edit: didn't like how i described the Doctor so i edited it out.


	5. The First Heartbreak (30-40)

When Chirrut was 30, he woke up as he usually did: one hand curled under his pillow, one hand curled on his chest, and two arms holding him tight.

The two hands, of course, were his; and the two arms were Baze’s. Jedha nights were typical for deserts -- cold, unrelenting, and just enough to deem “cuddling” a necessity.

He was awake before Baze. Usually they woke up around the same time, but Baze had had a disturbed sleep last night, and Chirrut figured he would want a few extra minutes of rest. Even so, Chirrut moved a hand to cover Baze’s, gently brushing the fine hairs that moved up his arm. It brought him some hazy comfort in the morning glow, and he hoped Baze felt that as well.

A few minutes later, as soon as he’d sufficiently gathered his wits about him, he gently crawled out from under Baze, leaving his lover (even now, the term brought Chirrut a little thrill) to mumble about in sleep to himself.

He’d be warm enough, Chirrut decided.

He reached out to his bedside table, feeling around for the strange white box that had become his constant companion. It was a spoil of war, almost -- a souvenir from his and Baze’s adventure at the doctor’s laboratory. Still, it was a very useful spoil, and Chirrut found himself relying on it more often than not.

Baze had tried to pry it open, to look at what was inside -- but it was too foreign. Nothing he could do affected it. Thus, Baze seemed oddly suspicious of the box.

But Chirrut was not a worrier by nature. He took the strange box for what it was (or, what it seemed to be), and nothing more.

He padded quietly over to where his clothes were neatly folded up, thanks to Baze. He didn't understand why it was necessary -- he would just unfold them in the morning -- but Baze insisted on keeping their living quarters clean. By now, it was as much his room as it was Chirrut’s.

Baze used to live a couple stories above him; the Temple was marvelously tall and grand. But Chirrut was allowed his vices. He chose to be lazy and keep quarters on the second deck. Later, it became too tiring for Baze to continually climb flights of stairs just to see Chirrut (or so he claimed), so he brought his necessities to Chirrut’s room one day and that was that.

The other Guardians were aware, of course, but it did not seem to surprise them in the slightest.

Chirrut hummed to himself, tugging his pants on one leg at a time. He was about to finish tying the sash around his robes when two great arms wrapped around his chest, and a kiss was pressed to his cheek.

“Baze!” Chirrut admonished, laughing as he tried to duck the barrage of kisses headed his way. “I'm changing!”

“Nothing I haven't seen before,” Baze said gruffly, adorning him with one last (and loud!) kiss.

Chirrut wriggled out of his hold, amused, and finished putting in his uniform. Baze shuffled back to the bed and sat down on the covers. “What're we doing today?” Baze asked.

“Once you get some clothes on,” Chirrut said pointedly, “you promised you'd spar me.”

“Aah,” Baze remembered. “I'd promised.”

There was a thud -- Baze had hit his head on the headboard. Probably on purpose.

“It won't be that bad!” Chirrut teased, leaning over to smack Baze's arm lightly. “Only a couple bruises!”

“For me,” Baze said indignantly. “It's embarrassing! I go into city with bruises, and they say, 'Nice night, huh?’ and I have to say, 'No, my boyfriend is just a better fighter than I am.’”

“Well, they already know that.”

“Hey!”

“Hey, what? You're not bad.”

“ _Not bad_ ,” Baze muttered to himself; Chirrut couldn't catch the rest of it, which had dissolved into nonsensical mumblings.

“Change,” Chirrut urged, rushing over to Baze's stack of clothing to toss the said articles at him. “You take forever to change!”

“Thanks, Chirrut,” Baze said. He punctuated this sarcastic reply with a sneeze.

Worried, Chirrut asked if Baze was cold, and before a reply could be given (“No --”), rushed over to the bed and wrapped the thick blanket around Baze’s shoulders. Chirrut nodded to himself in approval.

“I’m fine!” Baze complained. His face screwed up in concentration and Chirrut worried but it was just a sneeze.

A very, very loud sneeze. Very rude.

Baze sniffed pitifully.

“You’re really not,” Chirrut said fondly. He patted Baze’s head (to some protests).

“I am,” Baze insisted, shoving the heavy blanket off his shoulders; Chirrut could hear its muffled thump on the mattress. “It’s just morning sniffles. I’ll be fine in an hour or a half.”

“Right,” said Chirrut, suspicion creeping into his tone. He tugged at the knot tied around his robes, fixing it with practiced ease. Tossing the strange box’s strap over his head and taking his staff in hand, he added, “You’re not doing this to get out of sparring?”

Baze sneezed, then rubbed at his nose with irk. “No! I’m just getting old.”

“Baze, we’re barely 30.”

“I feel 70,” Baze grumbled into the blankets. He must’ve planted his face in the sheets.

Chirrut laughed, tapping Baze’s head fondly with the end of his staff, eliciting another exasperated sneeze. “Race you to the courtyard!”

“I’m not even changed!”

“Better hurry up then,” Chirrut teased, laughing as he bounded out the door.

 

* * *

 

Chirrut hated losing. It was another vice of his.

Baze did not mind losing, but he was a more sour loser than Chirrut.

So they tried not to spar too often, but sometimes it was good for the soul. It was fun, it was healthy (for the most part), and it was friendly until it wasn’t, except that was always because someone had to lose and the loser hated losing.

Basically, this wasn’t going to end well.

They did it anyway.

Chirrut shifted into ready stance, bouncing lightly on his feet. _Breathe in, breathe out. Check your heartbeat. Maintain a rhythm: up, down, in, out. Breathe, breathe._

He could feel Baze prepping himself as well. Practicing zama-shiwo as well, no doubt.

“Ready?” Baze asked, voice already wispy from interrupting the rhythm of his flow.

Chirrut struck first, aiming a simple roundhouse at Baze’s chest. Nothing fancy -- just testing the waters.

His partner dodged, of course, and retaliated quickly with a rapid series of kicks that Chirrut dodged -- except one to his head (which came out of the blue, so good for Baze, really), which he was forced to block with his arm-guard.

The two opponents split apart, both pausing to catch their breaths.

“Ouch,” Chirrut said, waving his hurt arm.

“Why didn’t you wear a gauntlet?”

Chirrut shrugged, smiling to himself. “I dunno.”

He blinked, and his opponent rushed back toward him, aiming, no doubt, for the arm, but that would mean he also had a weak leg and --

“Gah!” Baze yelped, falling to the ground as his leg crumpled beneath him. Chirrut congratulated himself on a good calculation before offering a hand to Baze.

Baze waved him off. “I’m fine!” he complained, heaving himself to his feet. He huffed and dusted the dirt off the back of his pants, all while continuing to wave Chirrut off.

“I tried,” Chirrut said before stepping back into his ready stance. A sweat had begun to form at his brow; he wiped it off without a second thought.

Baze groaned, though he stepped back into position as well.

Chirrut was absolutely delighted.

 

* * *

 

They both reached their limits sometime later, their zama-shiwo techniques not advanced enough to maintain them much longer. Baze and Chirrut were drenched in sweat and riding adrenaline highs, which both made them increasingly competitive (not good) and more prone to giggling (which was alright).

“One more round!” Chirrut pressed, his feet aching. “Just one more!”

Baze chuckled breathlessly, widening his stance. “Fine, fine.”

Chirrut whooped, practically dancing with glee over to Baze and was about to deliriously slap him on the chest (he was too tired to think clearly, and he and Baze were certainly friendly enough) when Baze instead interrupted him by _rudely_ embracing him and kissing him passionately.

“Why are you like this!” Chirrut tried to yell, but it came out more garbled and seductive than he intended, which meant more furious kissing.

This went on for a little while longer (he was pretty sure that Baze's hand had wandered south at some point, which was a little embarrassing because they were still in the Temple, but also very welcome) until Chirrut heard a small cough.

Baze nearly dropped Chirrut to the ground, both of them shocked as they were.

There was a Guardian nearby, and Chirrut recognized her as the one who'd first introduced Baze to him. “I think you've had enough sparring for today,” she said with a pretentious air.

Chirrut knew that Baze's face was probably flush from embarrassment, but he was still riding a high. “You're right,” Chirrut teased, making a kissy face at the Guardian, “would you like to have a go?”

The Guardian spluttered and Baze coughed loudly before tossing a chortling Chirrut over his shoulder and sprinting away.

 

* * *

 

“You’re a fool and embarrassment,” Baze informed Chirrut later, when the two of them were breathless from various activities that involved, but were not limited to, running away from a scandalized Guardian.

“That's why you love me,” Chirrut informed him, grinning. He tugged Baze’s arm closer to his chest, blissfully happy. The tired guardian was about to fall into deep sleep when he heard Baze say,

“Really now?”

Chirrut peeked an eye open, shifting so that he faced Baze. He wanted Baze to see the frown on his face. “Obviously.”

“What if,” Baze said, “I love you because of how handsome you are?”

Chirrut could feel his face heat up. Still, he snarked back, “That’s superficial!”

Baze was still holding him tight, and Chirrut noticed curiously that his heart was beating near out of his skin. “Then what if I love you because of how smart you are?”

“That would be sad,” Chirrut said, feigning dismay, “seeing as you’re far smarter.” (Which, really, was true. Sadly.)

“Then surely I love you because of how strong you are,” Baze said, ghosting a hand down Chirrut’s arm. (He tried not to shiver.)

“You know,” Chirrut teased, “I think that’s it.”

They laughed together, Chirrut burying his face in Baze’s chest to hide the embarrassment that must’ve been blooming across his face. He both loved and hated when Baze acted so romantic. On the one hand, it was very pleasant and boosted Chirrut’s ego (not that it needed it, Baze would remind him, miffed) but also so silly and inane.

Baze swallowed, and Chirrut’s heart skipped a beat.

“We should get married.”

Chirrut’s first, blind (ha!) reaction was to shoot up in bed, accidentally knocking foreheads with Baze on the way up.

“Ow!” Baze yelped as Chirrut apologized profusely, trying to stifle his nervous laughter while preserving whatever dignity the two of them had left. “Fool!”

“Sorry, sorry! I know!”

“I tried,” Baze said, flopping backward on the bed. Chirrut ran his hands through his hair; they were shaking and now his heart was beating straight out his chest. “I tried. Force knows I tried.”

“Calm down!” Chirrut yelped. He then attempted to calm himself down, to no avail. “You want to get married? After, like, ten years?”

“I tried!”

Chirrut blurted out, “I want to get married too!”

“I -- what?”

“Let’s get married!” Chirrut blurted out again, he was a wreck, a happy wreck, but a wreck and a fool nonetheless --

“I suggested it first!” Baze cried, but it was halfway teasing; he shot back up (more carefully than Chirrut) to wrap Chirrut in a fierce hug. Chirrut hugged him back, beaming.

“Force, I love you,” Baze breathed into his ear. It sounded a bit weepy, but Chirrut wouldn’t comment on it.

“I love you, too,” Chirrut whispered back.

 

* * *

 

Their wedding would've been a small affair -- except it wasn’t, because Baze and Chirrut actually had lots of friends, and the Temple was very, very large. It towered over Jedha City. Very easy venue to find. And free food, so. Lots of guests.

“We have too many oranges,” Chirrut told his guardian urgently, shoveling some off the table and into his guardians’ hands. “Take them! Run!”

His guardian chuckled, dumping the oranges back on the table. Chirrut could feel his heart thump with every orange that hit the tabletop. “Don’t worry, Chirrut. We all love oranges. They will be gone in no time.”

“But --”

“It was a donation. Accept it,” his guardian waved away.

“Then what about the bread?” Chirrut asked anxiously.

“The bread donation will come in an hour --”

“What are all these donations?”

His guardian gripped his fidgeting hands and steered him away from the food spread. “The people like Baze and you very much. These are your wedding gifts.”

Chirrut’s stomach flipped, and a nagging sense of guilt. “That’s too much --”

“Just accept it,” his guardian scolded. “You wouldn’t have this any other way.”

Chirrut shrugged helplessly, allowing himself to be dragged back to his prep room. He was already ready, actually. There wasn’t much to do. He wore the same outfit he usually did, his Temple robes, but he made sure they were extra clean. He also purchased some new shoes; they were a nice white, and very soft. Not very practical but, hey, it was his wedding. He could afford some small luxuries.

But his guardian was right. He wouldn't have such a large wedding if not for the people in the city supporting him and Baze.

Which he felt a little bit bad about, but it was jarringly true that the Temple was underfunded -- there were pilgrims, yes, but no real need to keep the large and magnificent structure completely restored. It was crumbling, slowly. Cracks in the walls, too much dust under feet. The Guardians were the only ones who maintained it.

It was a very kind thing for Jedha City to come together to help fund Baze and Chirrut’s wedding. He couldn’t help but wonder if they were worth it. He and Baze had just done their duties as Guardians -- protecting NiJedha, protecting the Temple. They hadn’t gone above or beyond duty, he didn’t think.

“How did you not know about the food?”

Chirrut blinked out of his thoughts, mind racing to catch up to the words. “What?”

“How did you not know about the donations?” his guardian asked again, bustling around the little room. It was a small, ground-level quarter, a little ways away from the kitchen.

“I…” Chirrut trailed off, shrugged. “Baze said he would take care of it.”

“We have very little money,” his guardian said gently. “How else did you think he would get what he needed? Besides, the people feel that they owe Baze and yourself for your service.” He shuffled over to Baze, clasped his hands. “The Temple's duties have shifted much from what they were supposed to be. You are doing the right work.”

The knot in Chirrut's gut lessened, but the emotion shifted from the years-old anxiety in his stomach moved to his ears. They burned, as warm as a bonfire.

His guardian chuckled. “Don't worry. I have known from the start. Teenagers are never half so clever as they think.”

“You were a teenager once,” Chirrut pointed out, trying to keep his tongue from tripping over itself. Nervous from this news, nervous for his wedding -- he was a wreck today.

His guardian looped his arm around Chirrut's. He was wearing his guardians’ robes as well. The soft material, reminiscent of home, was unforgettable. “Case made. Shall we?”

Chirrut nodded, throat tight with emotion. He smiled anyway.

 

* * *

 

If Baze looked as beautiful as he smelled, Chirrut thought he might bring the whole city to its knees. There was something utterly different about him; he still smelled of earth, but it had something more to it. Something alive. Almost like the grass that sprouted in the courtyard, which Chirrut was crossing now, but softer. Gentle. Baze-er.

His guardian left him before he could register it, lost in the sensory delight that was Baze. He looped his arm around Baze's, feeling the softness there and taking care not to ruin it. Everything was perfect.

“What scent is that?” he breathed in Baze's ear, but the other man merely shushed him. It was a pleasant shush, with no venom behind it.

“We gather here today,” began the eldest Guardian, “in ceremony of two of our finest, Chirrut Îmwe and Baze Malbus…”

If Chirrut was to be honest, he didn't listen to the rest of that speech. It was long-winded and boring and highly ceremonial, and it was a little warm out and the air was just a little humid -- really, it wasn't his fault that he'd fallen asleep.

Something jabbed into his stomach, the wind knocked out of him.

“Baze!” Chirrut gasped, rubbing at his sore belly as the Guardian droned on and on.

Baze stepped on his foot politely in response. And by politely, he meant excruciatingly painfully.

Chirrut paid attention after that, which was probably for the best. When the Guardian announced that they could bind their union with a kiss, Baze swept Chirrut up in his arms and kissed him soundly on the lips, much to Chirrut’s and the crowd’s delight.

“I love you,” Chirrut whispered into Baze’s ear with no small amount of adoration, sunlight and flower petals brushing past his face.

He could feel Baze’s beam radiating against his cheek. “I love you, too,” Baze whispered back.

 

* * *

 

The feast and festivities seemed to go on for days. The tables the Guardians had managed to find within the nooks and crannies of the huge structure creaked under the strain of a plethora of fruits and breads, and yet were drowned out by the brassy tunes of the street musicians who volunteered to play.

The sun was slowly setting, but the day had only just begin.

“A toast!” Chirrut cried, raising a cup of watered down whiskey to the reddening sky. “To the amazing sex I’m getting tonight!”

The people around him cheered loudly, roaring in their inebriation.

Baze must have heard him, because he pulled him very quickly away from drinks table, trying to muffle his own embarrassed laughter. “Chirrut!”

“What?” Chirrut said innocently, fluttering his eyelashes with as much grace as he could. He must’ve failed, because Baze’s laughter was only growing more undignified. “It’s true, isn’t it?”

“Wouldn’t you like to find out?” Baze said lowly, though the effect was ruined by the both of them sputtering with laughter after.

Chirrut gripped Baze’s arm, leaning up to steal a brief kiss. “Meet me in our room in ten minutes.”

“Our room?”

“It’s yours now, too, _husband_ \--” Chirrut couldn’t hide his grin at the word, “-- in this life and the next.”

“Someone paid attention during the vows,” Baze said, tickling Chirrut’s side affectionately.

“Hey!” Chirrut swatted him away. “I’ll have you know I _always_ pay attention.”

Baze gave a short, loud laugh, ruffling Chirrut’s hair and wandering away, likely in search of more food before his ten minutes were up --

 

* * *

 

The man trailed off in his storytelling. The woman's needles had stopped clicking, which had accidentally unnerved him. She was just trying to untangle a knot, however.

“You’re not from Jedha,” he said.

“No,” the woman said curiously, giving him a look.

The fire behind them crackled, casting long shadows up the clay walls. If the old woman was unnerved by how the shadows seemed to reach for him, she did not let on.

“It was the darkest day of my life.”

“Ah.” She picked her needles back up, clicking resuming. She'd heard these ones before --

“It wasn’t a bad marriage,” he hurriedly remedied, the ghost of a smile relaxing his features. It faded as quickly as it came. “I just... haven’t seen him since.”

“Why?”

“It was my fault,” he said.

The woman’s lips pressed thin, and the needles slipped against each other. “I see. Please, continue.”

 

* * *

 

Chirrut stepped back into the crowd, laughing randomly, giddily, at something his guardian said. “Yes, celebrate! Dance! Sing!”

Unfortunately, his guardian had not said something joyous. Awkward.

“Ah, Chirrut,” the old man said slowly, words blurring together in a mournful mumble, “you grew up so quickly! Yesterday, I found you in that little box, and, today, I gave you away, today, and, you…” He slumped over, and Chirrut helped him into a nearby seat. The party seemed to be dying down; some of the older folk were filing out with the sinking sun.

“Thank you for everything,” Chirrut told his dozing guardian fondly. “You have done so much for me.”

His guardian mumbled something else, patting at the air in front of Chirrut. Chirrut smiled.

 

* * *

 

“Took you long enough,” Chirrut said, beaming at his husband as the door opened and closed. The air was warm, and the ceremonies and stress of the day had tired him out. He longed to be held, at least for a minute.

“Had to help some drunk old ladies out the door,” Baze said gruffly, clambering across Chirrut's -- their bed to reach Chirrut, falling into his tight embrace.

“How kind,” Chirrut said distractedly, running his hands up and down Baze's back. He was... tense. There was something more -- surely not wedding jitters? Regrets? Was ten years really not long enough to wait?

“What's going on?”

Baze sighed, shrugging off Chirrut's arms. The air was cold. “I heard from one of the pilots. There's war brewing in the Republic.”

Chirrut frowned. “We're far enough from there. Relax --”

“We're fighters,” Baze said, cutting straight to the point. “We could do good. A lot of it. You know that, we've been doing this for years. We're weaponsmiths, too,” he added, rushed. “We could do good.”

“But… the Temple,” Chirrut admonished. “Who would guard it?”

“The Guardians,” Baze said dismissively.

“ _We_ ,” Chirrut stressed, “are _Guardians_.”

“What could happen to the Temple?” Baze dismissed again. He took Chirrut’s hands in earnest, leather grasping at leather. “Just for a few years. They think it’ll be over soon. Let’s go. We could get off-planet for the first time. Just think of the galaxy waiting out there --”

“No.”

Baze almost seemed to shrink back. “No?” Chirrut’s hands became empty.

“No,” Chirrut said simply.

He rolled over on his side, pulled the blankets over his head. He did not dismiss Baze from bed, he didn’t have the heart to do it, but there was something heavy weighing down his heart.

Of course, Chirrut could not have predicted that the other half of the bed would be empty in the morning.

 

* * *

 

“You left him on your wedding night?” the old woman exclaimed, setting down her needles and scarf with exasperation. “How could you?”

“I did not know my trip would take ten years!” the ex-Guardian said, defensive.

She leaned over and smacked him lightly on the hand in reprimand. “Shame on you, Malbus.”

He gave an awkward, stilted laugh, knowing the old woman meant well enough. He did regret being away for so long -- he’d thought about sending messages, but the guilt would absolutely wreck before he could shakily enter the coordinates of the Temple.

What would he even say?

~~_Sorry it took so long. I’ll be back as soon as I can._ ~~

~~_I’ve missed you every second of every minute of every hour of every day --_ ~~

~~_I broke my ribs. Pray for me?_ ~~

~~_I’ve loved you this long. I’ve loved you from light-years away._ ~~

~~_I saw a Loth cat today. It had your eyes. I wish you were here --_ ~~

_How are you?_

Baze wanted to be home now more than ever. Picking at the scraggly blanket draped across his lap, he ran a hand through his unruly hair and wondered if he should cut it before returning.

One part of him wanted to upkeep the Guardian tradition -- a close-shaved head -- but the other part wanted change. He had drifted apart from the Temple since before leaving Jedha. Chirrut had always been so deeply engrossed in the spiritual aspect of a warrior-monk’s life, but Baze didn’t understand it. He could not feel the Force as Chirrut did.

Chirrut obviously had some sensitivity, or had gained it through years of rigorous meditation. Baze had always had more faith in his echobox, though. It may have been taken from a criminal, but it served its function well.

He worried for Chirrut constantly. If it was stressful to care after Chirrut while having him in sight, it was infinitely more so from light-years away. He knew, somehow, instinctively, that Chirrut was okay. Chirrut could look after himself. But there was still some small voice that insisted that Chirrut had picked one fight too many and --

The old woman patted his hand again, and Baze turned to her quickly in alarm. “I --”

“ _Shh_ ,” she hushed gently. “You need sleep for your journey tomorrow. Just think! In an hour or two, you will be at his side again.”

The flames were beginning to die out. It was getting cold. Foreign skies always seemed so cold.

“Thank you,” Baze croaked. He could feel the tears coming, and he felt ashamed for it.

She gave him a crooked smile.

 

* * *

 

Two Guardians stood in the courtyard. The first one, closer to the entrance, seemed to recognize the newcomer first.

She disappeared inside the Temple.

The second one was pulling weeds from the sparse garden. Harvest had been disappointing this year, and there wasn’t much to go by. He would have to ask charity, again. A shame that such a grand Temple would crumble to this…

“Chirrut?”

The Guardian almost didn’t recognize the newcomer’s voice. But who could blame him? He hadn’t heard it in ten years.

 

His heart broke at the noise.

“Baze,” Chirrut said. “Where have you been?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I know it's been way too long! School has been kind of crazy, sucking out my creative juices like a vampire or something
> 
> Hope the wait was worth it!


	6. The First and Final Return (40)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up -- there's an extremely brief mention of infidelity because, unfortunately, nobody's perfect.

Baze stood outside Chirrut’s door, hesitant. He raised a fist to knock, thought about it, thought _better_ of it, then lowered his fist -- only to raise it again a second later. 

He had been stuck in this dilemma for a little over ten minutes. He did not know what to say. Chirrut was in there, hurt, and Baze could do nothing about it because _he_ had caused it.

It had been a bad idea, to run away. And on his wedding night, no less. Chirrut had likely long since moved on -- especially because Baze had never worked up the courage to call. Had never worked up the strength to purchase a way back home. Had never been able to articulate, even in his thoughts, just how much he missed Chirrut.

Chirrut hated him, had every reason to. Baze did not doubt this.

He unfurled his fist, the tension seeping from his finger tips. They fell against the cool door that separated him from his husband (his friend, his family, his past -- Baze did not know what they were now), shivering against loneliness that had taken them both.

“I am sorry,” Baze whispered. He pressed his forehead to the old metal, wishing Chirrut were there in its stead.

No noise echoed from the room to affirm his presence.

“I am,” Baze insisted. “I want to talk, Chirrut. Just come out for a minute. I will tell you about off-planet, and you can tell me about what has happened on Jedha. I --” He hesitated only a minute. “I… know that you must hate me. And I understand. But I wish to at least be civil. And to apologize.”

He swallowed thickly. “Then, we never have to see one another again.”

The words felt heavy and dry in his mouth. He waited for Chirrut to say something -- he knew that Chirrut could hear him. The walls were not _that_ thick.

But still, Baze heard nothing.

He heaved his ion cannon to the side, suddenly burdened by its weight that had been familiar for years. Baze felt foreign in his old home, a fact that made his chest ache. Chirrut had always been a constant, and now that was gone.

The goal, all those ten years, was to get home. Home had never been Jedha.

“I love you,” Baze tried, desperate, willing to shoot through the door if he could be certain it wouldn’t hurt Chirrut. His fingers curled back into a fist, a firm _bang_ hitting the wall to emphasize his point. “Chirrut -- I _love_ you -- please --”

He took a deep, shuddering breath, exhaling his fears with as much control as he could muster. Ten years… Force. Had they passed so quickly? How could they have?

“Chirrut --” he tried to start again, this time pushing at the door.

To his surprise, it slid open.

Dread knotting at the pit of his stomach, Baze hesitantly slid the door all the way open. It took some time for his mind to process the sight before him.

Bed, neatly tucked in at the corners. Dresser, clear of everything but a simply carved box. Nothing out of place. No disorder. Nothing to tell Baze that Chirrut had even been there -- except, of course, the slightly ajar metal sheet that covered the room's window.

Baze could do one of two things then -- he could cry, because Chirrut was avoiding him after a decade apart, or he could laugh, because Chirrut was still so predictable.

He ended up doing neither -- he’d never been much of a crier or laugher.

Baze, heart full of _something_ , jumped out the window to follow a fool.

 

* * *

 

If Baze were Chirrut, he would try to be as unpredictable as possible. Of course, Chirrut being unpredictable was predictable in and of itself, so Baze walked to the garden that he and Chirrut had shared as children. 

It was different from what he remembered.

There was no grass.

Or, well, there was -- but there was so little of it.

It was not like the day he’d danced in the rain with Chirrut. Then, there had been thin, wispy green grass underfoot, tiny white flowers hidden in between the blades. It had been beautiful then.

Now, there was only death. The grass, and flowers, even, had been trampled into the dry dirt. Jedha had always been hot, but there had at least been some life.

The only difference in the flat, dusty brown environment were small crevices in the ground. This did not encourage Baze.

“Chirrut?” he called out, voice gruffer than he'd intended. He cleared his throat, tugging his cape a little closer. “Are you here?”

There was no response, not even an echo.

Baze moved on.

 

* * *

 

“Baze Malbus!”

Baze turned around, alarmed --

There was an aged woman, beaming tearily. Her neck was laced with shells and colored stones, her body draped in airy scarves. “Oh, Malbus. You must remember me.”

He winced. Her face was unfamiliar, and he told her as much.

“Well,” the old woman said, “I haven't seen you in ages.” She sighed, rubbed at her clear eyes. “I am Tersa. I used to be neighbor to the Rooks.”

Recognition clicked, and Baze could feel the guilt seeping from his gut. “I- I’m sorry. I just got back. I have been distracted --”

Tersa waved his concerns off, unflinching. Her jewelry rattled, a familiar and heartbreaking sound. “I understand. You're looking for Chirrut, aren't you?”

She looked tired. She was not human, and so the years had not affected her as much as it did Baze, but he could see the fatigue draining her limbs.

“You won't find him in this market,” Tersa continued. “He rarely leaves the Temple nowadays. You'd have better luck there.”

Baze shrugged helplessly. “I've already been. He…” He didn't bother to finish his sentence; it was too painful, and she would understand.

She nodded. She had.

“Check the bakery,” Tersa advised. “He sits on a bench outside the place that smells like off-planet herbs. Sometimes they give him a bun, out of respect for the decrepit Temple.” She frowned, lip curling in distaste. Baze was sure that, had he not been there, she would’ve spat on the dry dirt. “A lot has changed, Malbus.”

Baze nodded, ignoring his shame and guilt. That could wait. “Thank you.”

Tersa nodded, and continued on her way. Baze continued on his.

 

* * *

 

Tersa was correct. 

Baze was both grateful and hurt. _He_ was supposed to be the one who knew Chirrut best. But a lot could -- _already had_ \-- change in a decade, and Chirrut had moved on.

 _Force._ Chirrut had moved on.

Baze had, too. He could admit that he’d changed in 10 years. He had made new friends, new enemies, found new worlds and new tastes. There was an entire galaxy at his feet for the first time in his life. There were no restrictive walls, nothing to hold him back.

Or. Well. He’d thought.

There was one night -- their wedding anniversary. Baze had taken a single photo of Chirrut with him on his voyage. It was a flimsy, because that had somehow felt more personal. Baze wasn’t sure why. A holo would no doubt be more secure.

Sentiment. It could get a better man.

Anyway, the flimsy had been a mistake. One cold night in a sandstorm, and somehow it was gone. Baze had swallowed and moved on -- surely he could remember Chirrut’s face for another year or so.

But one year passed, and then another, and then another and then Baze forgot how it felt to hold Chirrut in his arms -- and how their bodies fit together on a cold night, warmth shared between their souls, and how their fingers laced together, and how warm Chirrut’s eyes glowed when he laughed.

Six years passed, and Baze was lonely. He had friends, sort of, but he was fighting a war and fighting to survive -- Baze had a side-business, gun for hire, just something small on the side, Chirrut wouldn’t like it but Chirrut wasn’t there -- and one thing led to another and he was sleeping in another man’s bed.

Baze regretted it as soon as it began, but he couldn’t have stopped it.

(Lies. He was a damn coward -- exchanging lives for money, breaking promises for an hour of pleasure. What would Chirrut think of him now?)

Baze watched Chirrut as he sat outside the bakery, Baze's brows furrowed and palms sweating. He felt like he was going to be sick. But Chirrut looked wholly at peace, the crumbs of a piece of bread the only disturbance across his smooth, deep blue robes. He did not look as unnerved as Baze felt. Chirrut had not always been like this -- yes, he had learned to meditate in his childhood, but he had always been so impulsive, so emotional. What had _happened_?

“Chirrut,” Baze croaked before he could lose his nerve, and rushed forward -- only to choke on his footsteps when Chirrut lept to his feet. “No, wait! Don’t go!”

Chirrut bristled, grip tightening on his staff. Baze remembered, suddenly, violently, when Chirrut had made that. His eyes burned with unshed tears. “Yeah? I have every reason to.”

“No, no,” Baze said hurriedly, stepping forward out of the alley’s shadows. “No. Ah, no, yes -- you do. But, please, we need to talk --”

Chirrut just stood there. Somehow, he managed to look like the one who was lost. “Baze…”

“I need to know,” and the words just tumbled out of his mouth, and they didn’t do that with anyone else, because somehow his words belonged only to Chirrut and Baze didn’t know _why_ , “did you null our marriage?”

Chirrut’s grip on his staff tightened. His knuckles were a raw white. “I could not do it.”

His worst fears had been confirmed. Chirrut, ever the faithful monk, likely wished to honor the Temple’s code by having both parties in the marriage present at its erasure. What else could explain how Chirrut trembled lightly with rage, how Chirrut fixed him with a stare so piercing that Baze was ready to melt?

Ten years was too long to expect someone to wait, even if you had passed every year of a decade (or more) before together. Jedha was a different place now. Chirrut was a different person now. Even the Temple, which had stood for centuries, had finally fallen.

Baze had gained and lost so much in ten years.

“I understand,” Baze said.

Chirrut frowned. “Do you?”

“It has been ten years, Chirrut,” Baze said. _I could not expect you to wait for me. I could not wait for you._

“Yes,” Chirrut said.

“I am sorry.” Perhaps tomorrow, they would go to the Temple together and --

“As am I,” Chirrut said, and he grabbed the back of Baze’s neck and pulled him into a tight, desperate embrace. His chest was pressed so tightly to his husband’s that he could feel every shuddering breath, every brief and rapid heartbeat, and he was so overwhelmed by emotion that he held him just as tightly.

They stayed like that for far too brief a time.

Baze let Chirrut go gently, holding him lightly at arm’s length so that he could wipe the tears from his eyes. Chirrut laughed shakily, blinking even as he grabbed, viselike, onto Baze’s hand.

They smiled at one another fondly.

“I am overjoyed,” Baze confessed, “but I am also confused.”

This only made Chirrut’s laugh harder.

 

* * *

 

Their problems did not go away after that, of course. There was much to discuss, and both men were hungry, so they tried to fit ten years of conversation into a couple hours over soup. 

Chirrut had a small home outside of the Temple. The Temple was so large and so empty that it did not feel right to live there anymore. He went there in the day, to take care of crumbling stone and to check on the kyber caves. There were still pilgrims, but they came in fewer numbers, and they spent more time haggling in the markets than worshipping in the Temple.

“Those fools in the red capes take the poor tourists to their ceremonies,” Chirrut huffed. “They are as dramatic as always.”

And this was how their conversation started -- lightly enough. They avoided talking about the night Baze left, instead sharing light anecdotes about their old friends and old enemies.

For one, Rook’s son had gone off to be a pilot. His son wanted to fly a TIE fighter, but Rook doubted he'd get the test scores.

The Doctor had left the planet. He was certain to return, as he had left his creations behind.

Yes, Chirrut's stolen device was still working. No, he'd never had trouble with it. Yes, he still had the lightbow. Yes, it was still functioning.

But how was Baze doing? He was the one who'd been away for so long.

Baze winced.

That had been a low blow, but he deserved it.

“I didn’t think it would interest you,” he tried, but Chirrut cut him off with a severe look over his bowl.

The steam curled in front of his husband’s face, dissipating into the dry Jedhan air. The light was dull, hardly enough to see, but maybe that was for the best. Baze didn’t think he wanted to see all of Chirrut yet, because when he looked at Chirrut, _really_ looked at him, not all this avoidance and stolen glances, he would be forced to face the truth of the past 10 years.

“Baze,” Chirrut said.

And Baze spoke. Stories spilled out of him like confessions -- there were nice stories, like the time he’d helped a young girl find her bantha herd, and when he had picked out his heavy repeater cannon --

“You didn’t steal it?” Chirrut interrupted.

“Well, yes,” Baze admitted, “and also, no.”

This cracked a small smile out of Chirrut. “That doesn’t make any sense, Baze Malbus.”

Chirrut only called him by his full name to tease him.

This realization made Baze smile, too.

But there were other, less nice stories. There was the first life he’d taken. He hadn’t meant to -- he’d been a gun for hire, yeah, but he’d told his patrons that he didn’t kill. They had just shrugged, said, _Do what you need to do, just make sure I get my money back_ and Baze was left to his own devices.

Usually the people he was sent after took one look at his cannon and repaid their debts. But there had been a young woman, not quite a teenager but not quite an adult, who couldn’t pay her debt. She’d tried to run. Baze had aimed for her legs, looking to maim but not kill, but the girl’s body failed her at the last minute and she had fallen right into the gunfire.

It had not been pretty. Baze had not been proud. He could not get the stench of burned flesh out of his nose for days, for weeks. (Sometimes, he woke up and could swear the girl’s cold hand was curled around his neck, _a life for a life for a life for a life --_ )

He had felt then as he felt now, looking at Chirrut’s sad, blue eyes. It was like reliving the grieving process.

“Was that the only one?” _The only death?_

Baze’s mouth went dry, and he averted his eyes. His soup remained largely untouched. It was probably cold by then.

“No.”

Once he had killed one man, what did it matter if he killed another?

 

* * *

 

“I’m married to an assassin.” 

Baze laughed quietly, staring unseeing at his cold bowl of soup. “Yes, Chirrut.”

Chirrut moved his bowl to the side. He had finished his. “That is new. When I got married, I was marrying a Guardian of the Whills.”

Baze did not respond.

“Is my husband still a Guardian?”

No time like the present. “No. That man is dead, in many ways.”

It came out almost as a breath, so natural that Baze wondered why he had never thought about it. Because he hadn’t -- he had thought of Chirrut often on his journey, but very rarely of the Temple. It had been a home to him at one point, and he appreciated all that the Temple had taught him, but he had never believed the way that Chirrut had -- did?

He remembered being a young boy and asking if Chirrut could use the Force. He also remembered lying about his eyesight, not wanting to cause Chirrut any embarrassment.

That young boy… Baze did not know when he had died.

Still -- Chirrut settled back, unsurprised. “I see.” He paused, then chuckled at his own little joke. “Well, you’re still married to a blind man. What do you think? Has old age treated him well?”

Mystified, but more relaxed than before, Baze carefully took Chirrut’s hand in his across the table. “Handsome as ever.”

Chirrut smiled softly, eyes fogging over. “You flatter me.”

“I am just telling the truth,” Baze informed him, squeezing his hand lightly. Chirrut’s hand was so slim, but it was just as rough as Baze’s. No doubt he had continued training to fight. Baze was proud -- Chirrut had to be a formidable warrior by then.

They stayed that way for a few minutes, just enjoying the other’s company. Ten years slowly began to fade. Not entirely, of course. What Baze had done was unforgettable, and very likely unforgivable. But they could start here, in Chirrut’s small home that could be Baze’s, too.

 

* * *

 

 

Chirrut took him by the hand and guided him outside. It was completely dark now, but the sun would rise soon enough. Baze was sure that neither of them would sleep that night.

“My guardian used to describe the stars to me,” Chirrut said quietly. Baze had almost not heard him. “Will you do the same now?”

Baze swallowed, throat tight. He would do anything for Chirrut. “But I do not know their names.”

“That doesn’t matter.” Chirrut tugged Baze closer, folding himself under Baze’s heavy arm. His clothing was soft but thin; Baze could feel Chirrut’s heart racing beneath the layers. “You have seen them from different planets. I have…” He trailed off, and Baze knew that he was troubled. “I have never seen them, Baze. Just tell me what they look like.”

Baze hesitated.

“ _Please_.”

“There’s…” Baze paused, restarted. Tried not to let their racing heartbeats, the cold, Chirrut’s broken voice distract him. “You know that the Temple is large.”

Chirrut nodded slightly, burying himself further into Baze’s space.

Baze thought about how to continue. He wasn’t sure what he was doing. It had been so long since he had needed to speak sweet words. “The stars are gathered about the top of the Temple. They’re drawn to the power of the kyber crystals.”

“That’s a lie,” Chirrut said, but he did not seem upset. In fact, it sounded very like he was smiling.

“They’re very bright tonight. They are brighter here than on any other planet in the universe -- Jedha is the only desert planet with so brilliant a view. I would not trade her for any other.”

Chirrut’s grip suddenly grasped at his jumpsuit. His clutch was desperate, but his words were casual as he said, “Surely not just for the view?”

Baze did not even have to think about this. “The stars above the Temple are beautiful, but Jedha has much more to offer.”

“Surely not just for the planet.”

“The stars above the Temple are beautiful,” Baze repeated, now adjusting his arm to hold Chirrut tightly back, “but they do not compare to the man beside me.”

Chirrut’s voice was choked with emotion as he replied, “That’s superficial.”

“I cannot help it,” Baze said, holding Chirrut as close as he dared. Chirrut’s breath was warm, but stilted, against his shoulder. “I love you, Chirrut Îmwe.”

Chirrut pulled him further. He was always doing that. He --

“And I love you, Baze Malbus. Forever and always.” Chirrut was crying now, his chest heaving as he clung to Baze, tears and nose wetting his suit. His face was pressed flat into Baze’s shoulder now, breathing him in over and over like he still couldn’t believe that Baze was there. “Don’t ever leave me again. Never.”

“Never again,” Baze agreed, his own eyes blinking against the wetness that threatened to spill over. He could not fathom why -- he was not sad. If anything, he was elated.

Baze had returned home, and home was welcoming him with warm, shaking arms, clutching him against his chest and keeping their heartbeats in time.

They stayed that way for a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with this story! I'm sorry the final update took so long, but life has been pretty busy and I hope you all can understand. :) 
> 
> Seriously though, thank you so much for all your support. It's been such a joy to write this, and I hope to write more Spiritassassin in the future. I hope I've done them justice! :)


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